Sea bird and storm

Early Saturday morning we were woken by a storm that was obviously making a bee line for our house. After a monumental crack of thunder and simultaneous flash of lightning, we lost power. When it was restored, we found that the internet connection was burnt out. We’re still waiting to be reconnected but in the interim have been loaned a gadget that hooks us up via wifi.  No internet meant lots of writing, so here’s a haibun just to say, I’m back!

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Sea bird, with worlds of ocean in yellow eyes, hangs in the stormy air between grey cloud and grey waves. Is it tomorrow it sees beyond the darkness, a limpid blue, sculpted sea mists and foam? Is that water titan, those twisted muscles of alien element, a maternal cradle to one whose eyes are filled with sunlight and the glint of silver fish scales caught in the moving depths? I hold out my hand to the wind and catch a breath of salt. The titan whispers, there is peace in this tumult. Listen to the laughter of the gull.

 

Rain in torrents pours—

the sharp snap of thunder-thread

breaking blinds my eyes.

Peel back the dark

Art ©Nathalie Ampleman

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Peel back the dark of the night,

See the stars in their glory,

Scrape away the shade from the light.

 

There’s a place where the moonbeams lie,

I would keep it safe forever,

And stitch up the hole in the sky,

With my needle, gold thread weaving.

Rowan berries lie bright on the ground,

Plucked like stars at your leaving.

 

Leap, silver salmon, wing, grey gull,

I will follow wherever you lead,

To the misty ends of the earth,

For my heavy heart is full,

And my love has taken the light.

Silver and grey, your wild scented path,

Soft feathered, sleek scaled and wise,

I will follow to the end of the night.

 

Microfiction: Bronze Ocean III

Six lines instead of three in this installment.

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The fumes of alcohol mingled with the pink clouds of mist and left his head clear but empty—he still had no idea where he was, up or down, dead or alive.

Somewhere, everywhere, coarse laughter reverberated and he remembered the whispering voice, the hand that shoved, and he searched the air for a face—instead he found a gull.

Don’t take any notice of him, the gull said, banking off into the scintillating cloud, just follow me.

“How?” he asked, immediately feeling stupid, but raising hands that dripped molten bronze.

Fly! The voice came back to him, muffled by the mist and fading, but he found himself spreading his bronze-dripping arms that became long, bronze-feathered arms, and beating the misty air in pursuit of the gull.

Liquid bronze and pink cloudy air vibrated with a roar of anger that he knew came from the mocking presence, but before fear could take hold of his wing beats, the gull wheeled about, fixed him with a bright, black eye and winked.

A vision

Still trying to catch up on the prompts. This is for today’s Daily Post prompt: Vision.

painting ©Georg Königstein

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What do I see amid the swirling hues,

Coloured sand, sea mist in mauves and blues,

Or a vision of a dream not meant for mine?

 

Dissolving faces, scenes of noise and light,

Happiness and laughter in the night,

Twist and curl and climb, a flowered vine.

 

I tip the misty contents on the sand,

They seep away, I touch with trembling hand

The stain they leave as blood red as dark wine.

 

A gull screams at the racing tide,

I search but there is nowhere I can hide,

The dream has left me at the high tide line.