MAL DE MER
Tides turn, patterned words
splashed the shores of consciousness,
forming watermarks on the beach
of yesterday.
Below this:
The ear filled sounds move the mind with bubbles.
Microcosms, each a moment.
He called the sea malodorous.
Whilst I washed myself in his words,
immersed myself in this word
seeking that which he’d claimed.
I slept,
awakened and remembered the sea.
His song faded.
The sea I knew
:
Green and grey in towering fright.
Bearded in streaking wind whipped white.
Roaring with rage or gentle tide.
Thalassic magic carpet ride.
But never malodorous.
Malodorous is man's creation.
Like words heaped on silence
or refuse on incoming tides.
Oil slicked noose for cormorants
and tainted ballast transported unseen.
Malodorous is:
Man's business card,
offered by poets,
for business.
Reg Kear © Australia 1996
