The Ocean

When you live on a small island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, the ocean is bound to have an effect on your way of thinking and your lifestyle. From your 'fun in the sun' beachside activities, right through to your 'hurricane worries', the ocean is an ever-present factor in your thoughts and everyday living. It teems with an abundance of life. It plays out its own rhythms. It sooths, comforts, rejuvenates, revitalizes...at times, it can even menace. The ocean is a constant factor which cannot be ignored. The members of the Writer's Circle acknowledged this fact through this sampling of writing exercises begun in July of 2010, and continued periodically up to today.

Nor’ wester Days

I love the wild and windy damp

when a strong Nor’ wester blows,

the sea with its white capped waves,

crash on the ironshore.

The blown spume fills the air

with mist, and scent of oceans far.

South of Hog Sty Bay,

the waves are breaking, building higher,

carrying debris from the ocean depths.

Sand and seaweed,

broken shells and coral,

carpeting the roadway,

all traffic has ceased,

only onlookers stand at a safe distance

above the road.

The sea in shades of green and aqua,

and many other hues,

nature in all its forms,

is truly wonderful to behold.

By: Brenda Quin

The Sea, a living canvas

This morning,

I watched a display,

put on just for me,

a living canvas

of so many blues,

with sprites bright like snow,

leaping up,

as joyfully as lambs.

They paused,

suspended in air,

thendissolved into mist.

The sea, inanimate?

Never.

By: Fiona Pimentel

 Image Link:  http://transitionscoachingcayman.wordpress.com/

South Sound Beach.

Small, dark coloured

birds feeding at the ocean’s edge,

clouds, feather like, above

the turquoise sea.

Casurina branches swaying on

the North East wind,

I stand upon the rock strewn

shore, lean against a drift log,

and watch small ghost crabs

emerging from their holes.

Alone, but not lonely, surrounded

by nature’s beauty. But yearning

for someone who sees as I

see, to share this precious

peaceful hour beside the quiet

sea.

By: Brenda Quin

I wish

I wish I had talent to write

About the smell of the sea,

Calling me to the cove,

How the wind lashes my face

And the fantastically huge waves

Splatter me with spray.

I wish I could swim at a hundred

Miles an hour, or surf over the horizon.

I wish I could rise up and fly.

So exhilarating….

I wish there could be no more tears…

By: Fiona Pimentel

15 Meetings with the Ocean.

I

The azure reflections call to mind

the deep sea recesses and

slow solitude of horizon, yonder.

II

A turquoise calm casts its spell

across the mirrored surface

of a windless ocean morning,

III

Lapping waters reach with

soft caress to sooth

tired body, and furtive

eyes, bringing sweet calm

of safe retreat.

IV

At three this morning

relentless pounding

of crashing waves

calls me from sleep, down

to the nearby cove.

V

I looked at her and recognized

the deep blue emptiness

of her eyes, the vast ocean

wasteland of her mind.

VI

Words sputtered out:

frothy foaming

of an exhausted ocean gale.

VII

Sounds of laughter

carry on a breeze,

good friends and small

children cavort together

on the edge of a point

of sand.

VIII

Weathered boat tied up

at the wharf, unloads

a bounty of life gathered

from the ocean depths,

men of the sea

mutter simple words.

IX

We gaze,

the ageless panorama of

a coastline scene framed

within the edges and panes

of summer cottage windows.

X

Lines of white horses

gallop over the reef

and ride up into the nestling cove

below the cliffs.

XI

My tongue circles above and below:

the salty lick of the old dog sea.

 

XII

A restlessness rustles beating beneath

my sweater; an irrepressible

desire drives my feet

across the sands of deserted

beachhead.

XIII

Fast eddies and shallow rock pools;

tidal waters retreat leaving

playgrounds for the inquisitive,

a harbour of hope for the

small creatures of the shore.

XIV

Dark clouds line the sky;

at water’s edge

my eyes meet the surly mood

of a stormy North Atlantic Sea.

XV

Within the glow of setting

sun, the tentative touch

of lovers in the evening hours,

a quiet walk along the

shoreline sand.

By: H.M. Peter Westin