The sea is gone

The sea is gone

disappeared or

lifted in cosmic

evaporation

reversing Noah

in a bleeding moment

it was there

it is not now

in its place the city

the waves of the city

crash upon the shore

in high tide

the sea has ebbed

the city has flowed

the seagull returns

to the ark, no fish,

the ark beached

upon what looks

like Michigan Avenue

or Fifth Avenue

or The Strand

or the Champs Elysees

the sea is gone

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Sea of glass

I am sailing on a sea of glass,

the prow of the boat slicing

   through waves of glass;

the sail inhales and expands,

propelling the boat

   forward, soundlessly

The silence of a glassy sea,

   no sound to hear,

   not even a bird’s cry

To look into the glass

is to look into the heart

and we see all manner

of creatures swimming

in the glassy sea.

Tweetspeak Poetry has a poetry prompt this week on sand, sea shells, and sea glass. "Glassy sea" isn't exactly the same as "sea glass," but, I thought, there's always poetic license. Anyway, check out what others have submitted at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Photograph: Brig upon the Water by Gustave Le Gray (1856); Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City.

The sea was a sheet of glass

The sea was a sheet of glass,

no wind offering even a tiny wave,

or a small whiteness riding a swell.

Was this the Sea of Galilee before

the storm, before Jesus slept

in the boat, before John baptized,

before Peter walked, and Lazarus

rose, and the young girl lived,

and the woman drew the water

from the well?

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Why we sailed to sea

It is only sand upon a beach.

It is only tiny pieces of glass

   shattered and pulverized.

It is only jagged edges upon the shore

   anticipating bare feet

and the inevitable trail of blood.

Two by two we pushed off

into the angry waves thrusting

   and shoving against us.

The shore line transformed

into horizon,  we paddled

   into deeper water, enveloped

by rain, crystals of frozen fog.

For a moment the noise abated,

    noise of undetermined origin,

metamorphosing into silence,

   the sudden clarity of silence,

allowing an understanding

   of the loudness of the rain.

We can no longer see the shore

   anticipating bare feet

and the inevitable trail of blood.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

I cast a crown

I cast a crown

upon a glassy sea,

a crown given me

for something undeserved.

I cast a crown,

gently, so that neither

the crown nor the sea

would break, or fracture,

or shatter, or crack

into infinity. The crown

slid along the glassy sea,

losing momentum

until it came to rest

against a glassy wave.

Only then did I see

that the sea and the sand

were the same.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.