Sunday, May 8, 2011


His True Calling

Briny water splashes waves against the dock.
Mother Ocean’s breeze moistens leathered
skin. Salt sprays slap his contented face.
A thin layer cracks fissures in dry lips.
Wafts of rotten shrimp, slimy fish guts.
Discarded bait like incense burns.
Childhood memories up in smoke.
One tarnished past fades away.
A state of mind. Water is his refuge,
his true calling. Standing at the ocean’s
edge once again. His thin and lanky frame
a pillar. On the horizon a ship appears, moves
closer, docks. Has it really been two hours?

@laurie Kolp

Prompts: Poetic Bloomings and Sunday Scribblings


Dave King said...

There's a density about your work which I find both exhilarating and enthralling.

Hyde Park Poetry Palace said...

brilliant omne,
you rock,

Dee Martin said...

wonderful imagery - you took me right to the water's edge :)