LYRIC WATER REJOICES AT SEASIDE

The happy dead are in its voice, majestic poet! Might I be as full of song. Melodies of seafarers past haunt each true and measured step.
Lilting, ever-lifting; an offering from the weary mariner to Neptune’s ear. Accompanied in breath and beat repeats the symphonic sound of a lunar baton. Maestro of the night, unwavering. Building to crescendo, euphonious. Tympani, cacophonous crash; an introduction to the score so written. And hidden within languishes water’s rhythmic cadence, lyrical expressions of heart and soul, left to wash away traces of the moment. Never ending refrain, sing again!

crash of waves resound
long after sun seeks her rest
water quells her thirst

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

**Inspired by “On Seeing A Train Start For the Seaside” by English poet, Norman Rowland Gale

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: Water

DRAWN TO THE WATER

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky  ~John Masefield from “Sea Fever”

I am drawn to the water,
a sanctuary dank and deep,
where Neptune’s sleep is unsullied
and tranquil. I will go there

where a sailor’s son should roam,
a second home for a weary traveler,
a reveler in life’s safe harbour.
Looking towards horizons and distant

places, of  foreign faces that grace these places
and dreams of adventure of which there are many.
Anyone who is so drawn is a son of the sea,
a welcomed one who is asked but one thing,

“What will you bring to the sea?”
for treasures that abound are found deep within,
and in their discovery we find ourselves.
I am ever-drawn to the water

a sanctuary dank and deep,
where the son of a sailor finds eternal sleep.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #408: Second Home

Sea Fever

 I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.