Ocean II

ocean one

Boundless tides

Deep and vast

Piled breakers

Future and past


Breaks a wave

Crests the foam

Roars the tumult

Upward a single drop is thrown


It hangs in the air

For a single heartbeat’s time

A gleaming tale

Microcosmic rhyme


Then ’tis gone

In the space of a breath

The moment of its birth

Was the moment of its death


So tiny, so small

Yet how large the sea

My soul churns with the waves

The dancing water gems call out, beckon me

There Is an Ocean

Avila Beach, San Louis Obispo, California

Avila Beach, San Louis Obispo, California

There is an ocean

I’m standing on its shore

Without boundary or measure

After time and before


The waves lap my feet

And they call out to me

They speak of fathomless love

And undeserved mercy


I glance down at my grimy feet

And at my bloodstained hands

I’ve borne these wrongs for so long

Perhaps I should stay on the sand


What if the flood isn’t enough

What if the stains remain

How can I ever hope to be clean

Doubt weighs me down iron chains


But again lap the waves

Again beckons the flow

Again sings the flood

“Come, be washed pure as snow”


And the ocean waves

Are not a watery flood

The are scarlet red

The ocean is waves of blood


Can this blood heal my scars

Wash away every stain

Will I rise from the depths

Whole and sound again


Still the ocean calls

So I draw a deep breath

I walk down in the waves’ midst

And down to my death


For the flood washes me

Of all that is not clean

I died that day

No power—the past but a dream


But dear friend

It wasn’t the end

I live again


I am complete

No more do I sleep

Not glorified yet

But forever redeemed


Ocean Waves

“It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.” 
~  J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion  ~

Still wash the waves

Back to me

And to the shore

Where hope was moored

Still boils the brine

‘Neath oaken keel

In torrential course

With sovereign force

Still churns the change

To and fro

‘Gainst anchor stern

And will well learned


Sometimes it seems like we’re all lost, one way or another. We’re all drifting, holding on to hope, and waiting rescue. We’re all lost and out of place. This poem is for the drifters, the ones borne by mountainous waves, and barely holding on. This poem is for you…


Castaway, out on the waves;

Treading water, all alone—where’s the boat?

Bobbing up, swimming round—keep your head up, else you’ll drown.

Wayward spar, drifting debris—to you a plank of hope.


Ahoy out there!

Away where the waves meet the sky—

Can you hear me?

Listen hard, receive my cry!


This water’s rather cold

And my limbs are growing weak;

A few more lonely hours

And I might drown beneath the sea.



Floating away

Born by currents—

Let my rescue come this day.