Roar of the ocean

she looks angry

pounding her shore

wave after wave

crashing, smashing, no slowing down.

Why such a hurry

why not relax,

hang out on the deck and chillax

like me?

Pink tan sand

wet and juicy under foot – or would be, if I ever get up.

Seagulls hang nearby

calling, cawing,

looking for meals, 

just rummaging around on shore

hunting for treasure

with nowhere to go.

 

Silhouettes, joggers in the distance

backlit at daybreak

daylight turns pink - just a hint - a shy little blush.

 

In the distance, heavy grey.

Up close, marine layer mystery.

Ocean, she keeps deep secrets,

line between air and sea barely visible, if any.

Is anyone lost at sea?

Sounds of ocean orchestra

symbols and drums

occasional soprano

mostly treble

she could be trouble

Mother Ocean.

She’s not the shy little thing that is lazy and warm

definitely not here on the Oregon Coast

with cold, crashing waves

grey, moody skies,

shipwreck city.

 

And those birds, they look lazy on shore

like casual beach goers

but I know the truth,

they’re always on guard.

 

I’ll stay warm in my blanky,

tightly wrapped, swaddling clothes

on the recliner

at ocean overlook

early fall morn.

 

Think I’ll wait to see her in person,

to feel her person

think I’ll just sit here and watch,

feel her spray

from the safety of warm and dry.

Hear her roar, feel it inside.

Savor her smells,

the siren scent,

a most dangerous woman.

Feel her pulse,

I’ll try to get in sync

or anywhere closer than

girl in window, safe and lazy,

with a spectacular front row seat to roaring surf.

 

I’ll let those enterprising birds do all the work

until sun comes up and

cold, pounding ocean becomes warm sandy beach

and I can’t resist her call a moment more.

 

Hint of blue behind grey cloudy skies

will she bring joy

or more great grey mystery?

Think I’ll sit and watch ocean TV

and see what the wild woman decides.

 

 

By Barbara Ayers

Lincoln City, OR