#30 The Scent of Sargassum

How is it

that you wander

aimlessly to

wherever the winds

compel the tides

only to then become

trapped on the very

shores that you

despised your entire life?

Aren’t you the same

that emerged from

an enigmatic flow

that enabled

you to lure into your

pathways

fluorescent life

that swum carefree

lingering

just below

your golden-brown hue…

that tried its best

but had yet learn to

keep its identity

through

treacherous storms

though each wide ocean

signaled an alarm

to changes that

even they could not

have thought to predict

that left you a victim

in between a unexpected

switch that

banded your leaves

into a meandering creature

obscure and thick

that soon became filled

with left over pieces

of deadened nature

casting deteriorated

shadows over your calm

form

intruding the bays

lightly,

almost suddenly

picturesque

gifting the sulphurous

taste of your tears

to every one

who comes near

to observe, and sweep

away your tainted,

salty fears

openly concentrated

under the sun

 replaying the times you spent

running away from

the predicted events

that whisper your untold stories

gently through the fumes

of your giveaway stench…

My Inspiration: Sargassum Weeds

© KohylahPiper 2015

#13 Islands, Rise.

The same arms that stretched out of a restful night,

sought to give liberty to aged, wooden shutters,

battered by gale force winds more than twice in their lifetime.

Sensitive, round nostrils still twitched at the residual smell of turpentine,

while fingers,

slower and arthritic, felt for the familiar chill of metal braces.

The rusting steel bolts resisted, but eventually cowered under ginger pressure,

and stiff hinges gave way with each worn creak

to misty rays of light, borne from the east,

that mingled with old friends as they slowly progressed,

poignantly aware of their inevitable demise in the west.

Salty sprays from a rowdy ocean become re-acquainted

with the soft breeze, that lulled sea foam into clandestine coves,

and both, forgetting they had met every single day before,

fell into each other’s beauty once again;

quite gently

and came to finally rest over mahogany cheeks…

lingering,

but for a moment.

The scurry of anxious paws, and scratching feet

both known and unknown began their day

under foliage of green and flaxen tones.

Branches that have danced for generations before,

sway in time to the rhythm of life fluttering above,

below and beside them,

anxious to teach their tribal rhythms to generations to come;

but for the moment, their eclectic beats, ever changing in the easy gusts,

enlighten ears protected by a cotton scarf

tied over thick black plaits, greying ever so lightly.

Bright mauve, burnt orange, sky blue.

Colours have risen out of clay and loam,

dew has bathed them, reaching far and wide over limestone.

Fevergrass and sage have begun to cast their spells,

addictively combined with the scent of freshly baked bread;

and as the globe of fire climbs higher, signalling the hour

for once outstretched arms

to till, to plant, to feed

to carry, to guide, to teach;

a flurry of wings will rest,

and from its perch,

a turtle dove will begin

its haunting morning call.

 My Inspiration: A turtle dove singing outside my window (2014) 

© KohylahPiper 2015