8:06 a.m. — Atlanta
Surprise! Me too. I have been poem-dry, of late, but even when I’m not, I love to see what spurs a poem. I haven’t done a Wordle in weeks. My last Reverie? Hah! Then I read the words, ‘the sea, the sea,’ and that was it.
The poem is a lot rougher than I like. I think I ignored everything Joseph had in the exercise, but the phrase, but I am so happy to have a draft, I am posting. I can see a lot that isn’t working. If your wonderful poetic brains want to work the draft over, you know that makes me happy. Have at it.
The call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied. John Masefield
The sea. The sea washes back and forth,
in and out, high tides and low
inexorable as the waxing and waning moon
that pulls the tides.
The city by the sea lives with the sea,
loves the sea until one day the sea moves in
and stays, curls its tendrils around every stick and stone,
every brick and girder, swallows roads and houses.
Like water from a broken vase, the sea pools, overflows
like a bathtub, a dam breached, becomes
a monster that devours.
Flocks of gulls fly before the waves
and still they cry, ‘the sea, the sea’.
It does sound a bit of a mishmash. I shall have to roll up my sleeves [and perhaps go back into the exercise and reread what else I'm supposed to try]. If you haven’t swung by Joseph’s place, naming constellations, visit to read the prompt and to see what others have written.