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by Francis Eaden
Water sliding up gray, satin sand,
dragged, soundlessly, back.
Rolling, crashing, spraying, then again,
a white, laced coverlet pulled upon the land.
Loon-white light of stars and moon,
cold points balanced on curling forms:
They fall, leap, scatter in endless dance
before a somber audience of dune.
A primal world held half in shadow, half in light:
moon-white world of pearl.
Peopled with crouching shadow shapes that cling,
like lovers to the fast-receding night.
like skis, on powder far away;
Small armored bodies scuttling on the sand.
The crashing of westward rolling waves that,
like cymbals, proclaim the coming of the day.
Frozen in phantom light,
the little world must stay.
Night creatures scurry home,
like worshipers from mass.
A lonely gull hangs silent in the sky,
and calls for all to come and prey.
copyright Francis Eaden 1997
". . .And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
Matthew Arnold (1867)
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|Reviewed by Prometheus Media
|Hello. I liked the composition. I liked reading your poem aloud.
I also play with words (verbs); but you are so different and it sounds 'poetic'.
Please feel free to comment on my page at the Den.
|Reviewed by Odlamn Weis (Reader)
|Yes. I was transported. I read much to find gems like this one.
|Reviewed by Jim Dunlap
|I like this one too. The quote is good. I think I
will have to read Dover Beach. The ending of your poem is terrific.