A Sea Symphony.

I took this picture at Widemouth Bay, Devon when we had the edge of Tropical Storm Gordon in the UK 2006.

Sea Symphony.

I was sitting on an empty winter beach,

feeling fine fingers of faraway breezes

play scented chords across my skin.

I was listening to the music;

tuning in to the sounds of

crashing scores of cymbals

clashing with the surf whilst watching

wild sea horses as they raced ashore.

I heard the echoes of bass drums

as the sea sucked and boomed

in and out of sleek creeks

and foam washed rock hewn tombs.

Violins were soaring seabirds.

Gulls were a quivering sound

of circling quavers flashing silver,

singing out in vibrato.

The sound of shingle soothed

the soft percussion and timeless

timpani became the soul of the sea.

Each golden note of the sunset

was scored by nature’s conductor

creating a symphony,

of glorious music.

Then entranced I looked up and saw

golden brushstrokes

painting an endless sky.

But then…

the orchestra stopped playing.

Quietly, softly,

the dusk lit curtains came down.

The conductor and orchestra left.

and

I…

I stayed behind for the

Moonlight Sonata.

Copyright Diana Leighton October 2013.

Head Land

Hartland Point, North Devon.

Where the Bristol Channel meets the Atlantic.

I wrote this poem after reading about a young woman who had jumped off a cliff. I wondered what had been going through her mind and the mental state she must have been in as she contemplated jumping.

Head-land

On the headland listening

to the sea breathing.

Wrapped in warm smells of gorse

she watches waves sail in and out.

Mist cloaked white horses gallop ashore

crash into the headland and roar.

Gulls soar high, rising on thermals

calling out like laughing schoolgirls.

Her mind a keystone looming large,

a grinder, milling memories

to rust, blown away as fine dust.

Aeons of a ground down life

now trampled in the dirt and sand,

cut short by life’s knives.

Her mind a vacuum, the memories

replaced by whispered calls  of Neirids

urging softly  ‘go on, you can do it’.

Zephyrs dance, gently stroke her face,

blow soft scents of spice and mace.

Distant ancients of deep, dark earth

the Haliai sigh ‘this is what you wanted’.

Rising like Lazarus, arms wide,

her soul flowing to the universe.

The gulls still laughing call -

‘go on, you can do it’.

She falls, flies, cries,

the moon sighs.

Drifting free

she joins the sea that

breathes in and breathes out.

Copyright Diana Leighton 2013 

 This poem was selected as a winner in part of the Forward Poetry one week challenge and is to be published shortly.