At Times Seas Angry

the sea can exhibit anthropomorphic attributes that excite the imagination pertinent to a real human being

she rages as I write this piece of script

low frequency, 
deep, moving sounds
in darkness outside
this bungalow

icey, sliding sounds slip
beneath her groans
like a spurned woman

washing, cycling,
in my mind’s eye
violent swirling
tidal crashing,
while darkness gives her cover

sand buffers her crashing sound
breakers slam like clockwork
against the reef breakers
angry and defying man to tame her

she rages
the wind assists her in sporadic bursts
of gale force
punching the walls and roof of my frail cocoon
making it shudder along with my heart
splintering my nerves like the wooden hull
of a beached ship I saw
wrecked on the beach early today

I hear the distress of a fog horn
how can birds fly in this storm?
the sharp cries of seagulls
pierce the low frequency
sounds of the sea
devoid of bioradar
such as bats possess,
they fly in darkness

’cept for the phosphoric glow
of tiny bioluminescent creatures’
light
of white foam caps
of her waves,
there is no moon,
or light

maybe the wind has taken them
and they cannot land
maybe they are searching for light
on shore

i have empathy for this 
scavenging bird
may it not slam against the cliffs

a broken mast I saw early today 
lying a half mile from the beached ship
forced me to think of
my own spine’s herniated disc

a floating cripple,
in a jagged cove
of inland basaltic rock,
waterlogged,
strangled by sea kelp

now it is midnight
i hear the sizzling of foam
and sand under pressure
sifted by bully waves
crashing and
slapping, having a row
against their own kind

i hear their high level decibel pitch
like the belly flop of the sperm whale
that flattened Ahab’s harpoon boat
and his own bully crew

this bungalow has survived many a storm
i surmise
let it have its tantrum
i will have my rest

i will let the sea have its way
let its sounds lull me to sleep
and in the morning when it is calm
i will resume my hunt for her artifacts