Tuesday, January 27, 2015

the storm


this level reach of blue is not my sea;
here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,
whose quiet ripples meet obediently
a marked and measured line, one after one.
this is no sea of mine. that humbly laves
untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm.
i have a need of wilder, crueler waves;
they sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.


so let a love beat over me again,
loosing its million desperate breakers wide;
sudden and terrible to rise and wane;
roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide
that casts upon the heart, as it recedes,
splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.

- dorothy parker, sunset gun: poems

2 comments:

  1. Beautiful Beth, and so well written, I am truly moved.

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  2. Great job Beth!
    Your fan, always.

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