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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

         More poetry...

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Symphony of Waves

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com

Amidst all the global strife and turmoil, we often forget to look and listen to nature’s magic. (Image by Pega)

Wednesday, July 25, 2018


Poem Artwork
Symphony of Waves


Like a symphony orchestra at work,
the ocean too has its own string,
horn, percussion and reed sections.

From fathoms deep
comes the basso profundal
that engorged percussive fissure
often thought of only as volcanic patience,
opening its bellows from time to time,
alerting oceanic musicology,
that the metronome is tracking.

Starting gently,
as but a grain of sand adjusting,
vibration arrests attention,
cueing creatures above to the language,
and like a Greek chorus of millennia-old remnants,
the remains of a crescendo
once of ancestral eruption’s drone
remembering its miniscule diminuendo growing,
arises.

As light makes visible,
smaller sounds of the deep
reveal melodious connection,
sending ever upward
harmonious timbre,
pulling the shell,
the minnow,
the whale and shark,
the seaweed and urban refuse,
a collective striving for finale,
a surface resonance enjoined
by a chorus of froth and foam.

Such is…

The constant reminder to
beach innocence making sand castles,
sun worshipers of closed eyes and open ears,
wandering sand prints of complexity,
that there often comes the resolute music eternal,
the break of wave and color,
the crescendo/diminuendo of ebb and tide,
the demonstrative sound of infinite tranquility,
the music only a symphony of the deep, of waves, can make.

Oh, to listen.

To hear.

  


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Reviewed on July 26, 2018
Today I will listen as I stroll near the shore! Exceptionally beautiful!

Love ya!

Jane

Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on July 26, 2018
Your poem invokes our obsession with the sea and the seashore, perhaps because once we came out of the sea to the land where we live now. However, I find the sound of the surf, the wind and the burning sun to be punishing to endure for very long. Have you ever noticed that beachcombers have the look of street people with premature aging?

I just heard today that, while we seem to fear sharks just offshore as we go to swim in the surf, only two or three people are killed by sharks each year. By contrast, more than 2000 drown each year, even good swimmers, in riptides.

Ron

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
Reviewed on July 26, 2018
I find myself not listening to nature's call in the way I used to, I wasn't raised up near the sea so I had to walk a little to the forest near to my hometown, to find myself, as I lay on the ground. The forest has its own rhyme and reason.

Reviewed by Richard Cederberg
Reviewed on July 26, 2018
The 'basso profundo'. The very deep bass voice. Indeed. The sea does not like to be restrained. Neither do poets and musicians. Uniquely cogitated, colorfully imaged; an artistic expression that resonates well with me. Excellent. Peace. r

Reviewed by John Herlihy
Reviewed on July 26, 2018
Listen indeed. This poem cries out to be read aloud, which I did, to myself. Glorious.


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