An ocean of devotion

Photographer:   David Orias

Here, I wait for your arrival
Where the sky swarms of gulls
And the ocean glints golden dawn
Weaving endless dance of dragons

The shore is my constant, my anchor
As I await for your arrival
As summer greens & yellows the field 
As autumn reaps its bounty of leaves

The pebbles & shells hear the roar
Of the vessel's mighty bows and oars
Here, I await for your arrival
as black ship clears into the harbor- 

An arrow pierces my chest
The flags fly and white mast unfurls -  
The sun, a beautiful maiden at rest, rises  
as I wait for you, here -    

“The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean-
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.” 
― Robert Frost

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - A tribute to Robert Frost
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~  Poetry form:   Quatern poem

In gratitude

                                                  

     Gratitude by Toril Fisher
Inspired by real-Life Farmers of Second Cloud on Left Farm

we buy this land for food & hearth
our calloused hands till the soil for
beets, beans, corn, tomatoes & peas-
our faces flecked with dirt & rain

we dig & stoop from our waist
this land provides for food & hearth:
summer squashes & cabbages,
all fresh & healthy as clear pond-

growing food, our cheeks turn pink
our skin browns with sunshine & air
this land gives more than food & hearth
connecting with nature, we are free

to grow wantonly as daisies
to sprout luxuriously as grass
with gratitude we praise & praise
for this land,  our food & hearth


Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Artistic Interpretation by Margaret
& Sunday Challenge - Quatern poetry form (8 syllables per line) ~  Thanks for the visit ~

What the sign said: Pennies are ok!

Vancouver, BC
Grace @ Everyday Amazing

By the beach bench, they huddle close
He, unshaven & matted hair -
She, sand-stained shorts, a wilted rose- 
Holding to plastic cups (& sign), sun 

Setting slowly, mirrored in gold (dust)   
By the beach bench, they huddle close
Like swept up shells in grainy shores
Gutted by wind & bitten by 

Uncertainty for tomorrow
is a steam-chimed clock,  boat adrift (empty)  
By the beach bench, they huddle close
As weary trees after a storm

Blackening their feet & fingers 
For a scrap, or puff, they beg for coins
This city, their drug & eden (lost) 
By the beach bench, they huddle closer 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - I was going around Vancouver City yesterday and saw homeless young (and able bodied) Canadians begging for coins.         They, along with the other homeless people, stay around the beach area and popular tourists spots.     I also mentioned Gastown steam-run clock, because it's one of the attractions in this city.     

Poetry form:  Quaterns - Playing with the form a bit but following the refrain line pattern.

Meeting the Bar:  Writing Characters