so much power
in a lazy rolling wave
as it tips into a tube.
a column of
weighty water
piledrives:
pressing one down &
holding one in a
back-shaped divot
on the sandy bottom,
a forced pour
onto face and chest,
flowing & rolling
over both sides with
such easy skill
as to negate a
frantic, thrashing
attempt to roll free.
Gentle waves lap ashore, circling into each other, one riding over the other. The lower sweep becomes another shore for the higher. Which side wins out changes from one wave to the next.
She sat on the shore and watched the sea. She watched the sea so intently, and for so long, that she could see the tides rise. She could discern that gradual shift from among the undulations & sea state changes. But she was seeking a ship that would never return.
a perfect wave
dashes onto the rocks.
the next one? who knows!
waves roll over with a soft crashing white noise that splays out into a sizzle as foamy water expands flatly over hot sand until the sizzle is washed out by the next wet crash and then more sizzle and then more crash sizzle & crash crash & sizzle
As in Hokusaiâs Great Wave,
I watch waves roll over,
before a volcanic cone.
Though these waves are
small & close,
they are perfectly rounded.
And though the distant volcano
looms large over the shore waves,
it has perfect symmetry.
I feel the roundness
&
simultaneous devastating power
of both elements at once.
waves crashing
on a rain-darkened shore
lull me to sleep,
as pelted boatmen
tug their boats inland
a rocky monolith, jutting from the sea, is smashed by waves. overgrown with moss & gnarled trees. battered brutally & unrelentingly, and yet unchanged & unmoved. birds confidently settle upon the rocks & take off again, leisurely.
waves smash onto rock. fountain spurts arc skyward. one droplet hangs for an instant, flips & drops, reuniting with its sea.
the !n(tro)verted yogi 