Here is the first poem from Ocean Saga
From the Beach
“Ten days have passed.
Will we ever put to sea again?”
The east wind had eased
but the swell remained, deceptive
as always, masking danger lurking.
A man’s patience can wear thin
after so long grounded.
“The weather may be fair,
but ocean currents govern us.
This one is deadly.”
Little fishing boats cannot be launched.
Roger threads a line through damaged net,
while his son, Simon, re-stacks the lobster pots.
They did this yesterday and will do so tomorrow,
if the forecast is to be believed.
Restless hearts force hands to be busy,
distracting with simple work.
‘Maintain your kit,” the skipper said.
“But not every day,” replied his mate.
Please dear Lord, give them a break.
Turn that wind northerly.
And so it was, after a full two weeks grounded,
our fishermen prepared to go to sea.
The airstream had changed.
South Western coasts must have wind tempered by the land,
so that small boats may fish in safe waters.
By the waterline, I saw George counting the waves,
head nodding gently with each one passing.
Three towering, crashing, messy, splashing,
followed by nine small, quiet and indecisive.
“Get ready.” Another three.
“Brace yourself.” Slack water.
“Go!” After the first of nine repeated.
Brute strength from taught arms,
legs straining, feet straddling,
can only push a flimsy craft so far.
“You have to choose your moment,”
Alan said modestly. Although we both knew,
only courage and good judgement
could make their voyage a success.
God bless you, I thought but felt too embarrassed to say.
I was, after all, only an elderly woman.
My time would come later, clutching a fiver
for when the boat came in.
"Fish for tea!"
After I had waved them off,
other life forms on the beach
revealed themselves to me.
“I am the spirit of the rock-pool.
I rule when Neptune eases his grip
and rolls the tide back to America
or France, swirling his cape of ebb
and flow. Six hours he allows,
before curtailing my brief reign,
claiming the seaweed crown
of this tiny territory
for his own.
Inside my safe waters,
small creatures thrive.
I offer shelter, embracing them
in a bath where cold sea warms,
and no undercurrents threaten.
Ripples may cloud my surfaces while sea breezes dance,
but there below, all is calm.”
"Mummy, look what I've caught.” A child pitter-patters across the rocks.
“I am the keeper of shore life.
See my mussel nursery, a raft of granite chips upended.
Admire my periwinkles, flashing dog whelks like badges
and look at my barnacles - rough stubble like an old man’s beard.
On my beach sand hoppers race the waves
and razor clams shuffle sand aside to hide.
I resist sun and sea to provide this earthy paradise.”
“Goodness, this sun is hot. Here, put some lotion on.” A mother calls.
“When storms rage,
rock pool tranquility is treasure.
Anemones open plump purple folds,revealing delicate fronds fanning.
They look casual, despite their frantic hunt for food.
Crabs scuttle, prawns battle and
it’s goby versus blenny
amongst the fish.
Isn't my domain more special than the rest?”
“Hurry up, mummy. It’s going stiff in the sun.” The child won’t leave.
“But tide’s turning
always comes before long,unleashing the demon sea
to swamp your watery oasis.
My beaches are quick to immerse and recover.
I offer longevity.”
“Throw it away and wash your hands in that pool, dear.” Mummy is peeved.
“This is the guardian spirit of your rock-pool
calling a predator alert.
Swim for your life!
We have a disaster.
Heed my warning, hide.
There is an Alpha invader.
Abandon the pool,
or be eaten alive.”
“What a pity, such a pretty - starfish.” The child is entranced.
“This is your guardian,
the keeper of all shore life
calling a pollution alert.
A tidal wave of sludge
threatens to overpower us.
Swim to deeper water
or bury yourselves alive.
A dredger cuts a channel
from which none of you can hide.”
“Thousands are dying on the beach. It’s a stranding.” Mother is sickened by the smell.
“Bountiful Neptune,
flow your tide quickly.
Help me defend
all those on whom
your deity depend.
Inside this rock pool,
they can no longer abide,
cursed by interference
from the Outside.”
“Merciful Neptune,
hold back your tide to ebb.
All life below the high tide lineimplores you,
spare our habitat.
We weather plastics and shuffle litter,
but cannot fight suffocating waste.
Please wake our sleepwalking neighbour.”
“Mummy. There’s thunder and lightning. I want to go home.”
“I am Neptune.
God of the seas and freshwater,
lakes, earthquakes and storms.
I am brother to Jupiter and Pluto:
together we rule as triumvirate.
Rouse my anger at your peril.
See the storm clouds gather,
run for cover if you can.
I will strike with the full force of Nature,
do not ignore me, foolish Homo Sapiens.”
“Don’t worry, dear. We go home tomorrow.”
“Thank the gods, it is a miracle.
Rain has driven pestilence away.”
“The sea is calm, our rock pools and beach unspoilt.”
“Listen Mankind. I, Neptune, have intervened.The gods have granted you
one more chance to be redeemed.”
