Walk Barefoot

What do you do when you forget your camera?

Beads and pearls of rancid green

crack and pop.

Dying dreadlocks upon baking black rock,

Entangled.

Slimy ends drip and drape

in warm salt bath.

 

Curious fingers of bright carpet

shrink from touch,

The shy anemone creeps back out.

 

Secret workings of worms,

chaotic curls cut in sand, black rock below.

No-where to be found.

The stubborn limpet

refuses to negotiate, antisocial

in his shell.

 

Chitons �" prehistoric aliens

hold important conversations with rock surfaces

about the space of eternity.

 

The ocean breathes and shatters

silent surfaces upon the heads of skittish shadows.

 

From clear, barren deserts

where shafts of light dance in the deep blue,

Lonely shark but a tiny silhouette

on the white sandy slope of a continental shelf...

 

The moon inhales.

The soul of the ocean arrives,

Boiling, angry in confinement,

pushing against solid shapes, wrapping around cliffs,

swirling into tidal pools...

 

Where grown-up children walk barefoot,

speculating on the shady affairs of secretive crabs.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the photo and the amazing poetry. To walk on a beach can find history and beauty. One day I would like to walk on a beach in Australia. I bet the ocean is alive and strong still away from the great population. The strong description took me to a good place. Thank you for a excellent poem.
Coyote