.
Inhibited sky
hides day’s naked light
behind a blushing veil of cloud.
Bashfully, it dons its night time hues.
Below the sleeping beacon, dark ocean cools,
murmering its merciless melody
of endless, incidental
conquest.
Saline spray
lingers on skin and lips,
like the memory of a million kisses;
signposts on a highway to heaven or hell.
She wishes that she could pinpoint them all;
rinse away those that were planted by force,
retaining only the imprints of pleasure –
but thinks it too late.
Her eye
measures the drop,
the sharp surprise of rock.
Oh, to be taken by the reckless sea
Β {{{ – enveloped in its fluid caress – }}}
not this ignominious nosedive onto stone,
bequeathing her decomposing carcass
as appetising fast food
for carnivores.
In such a ferocious place,
to be quick is to be too harshly dead;
not her imagined romantic dissipation,
but yet another beaky invasion.
She considers;
shall she precipitate
this cheapened technique
to attain irreversable decay?
With a final, longing glance,
she steps off the catwalk,
her spiral descent
no shocking
freefall,
after
all.
~
Β©Jane Paterson Basil
are you considering launching yourself onto those rocks below? Nice one …
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I love lighthouses… this is pure fiction π
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sorry, needed to check as it is often personal … very glad of that as we don’t want your talent smashing below before you are published! Like how you are connecting the ocean and nature to emotional situations … i should get more daring π
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He who dares… ends up on the rocks π π π
I’m a secret adrenalin junkie. Going to scary places with your writing is exhilarating, and it can pay dividends. I say go for it.
There’s a history to the poem; many years ago, when I was in an abusive relationship, I often wished I was dead. Late one stormy night I got out of bed, got dressed and walked to our local river (it’s since become a popular suicide site). I stood on a bridge above it, trying to decide if my kids would be better off without me. I wasn’t sure of the answer, so I went home and got back into bed.
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wow thank heavens for that as you were the lifeline for your daughter and we wouldn’t have your poetry to read … we would have all lost!
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Now you mention it, I’m pretty glad I didn’t go to a watery grave π
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me too and ditto for many others, including your kids!
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Glad you went back home. We would never have met! And just think of what we would have missed out on π Love this poem, Jane.
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I wouldn’t have jumped – all that blood would never have washed out of my clothes π
I’m having so much fun with writing since I decided to shelve all that father crap for the time being…
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Great – enjoy !
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Awesome! πΉπΉπΉπ
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For some reason I’ve just found a load of your comments in my spam folder. I’ve reinstated them, but I suggest you check every time you comment on a blog, to see that it goes onto the page. If not, you’ll need to contact akismet and try and get it sorted out. Those spam bots go a little crazy sometimes, and it can cause awful problems for a blogger.
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Ah, again we go another around with the Spam Folder. No worries Jane. And ty for telling me about this issue. It is not the first time this has happened, I am certain it will not be the last. I do not know why this continues to happen. I will certainly try and contact Akismet about this issue, again. (@–>–)
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It’s ridiculous; nobody’s comments could be less offensive than yours π·π·π·
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“Saline spray
lingers on skin and lips,
like the memory of a million kisses”
I could feel the longing. It made me want to close my eyes and reminisce.
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I’m pleased that you took note of it. It’s a rare thing for me to sprinkle my poetry with such romance, but I needed a memory that would pull me back, if I had been standing on the edge.
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