my little masterpiece of poetry.

To tell the truth-- I have never been able to write another decent poem since the day this one came alive under my pen. It's as though all my love for the ocean, for words and for writing, for the magical, for the sky, for the Irish and for Ireland all came together in this mishmash of description and settled there forever like some strange, beautiful burial. 

The Maid and the Man and the Sea

Anna Ferrar | 2009

                                                                             

A mystic sky cradles in its reachless arms

The rolling waves, thrashing, anxious

Unraveling in an endless dome

Changelessly, haughtily, sweetly

Of wind and sky

Hemmed by the faded horizon line

Away from the ancient craggy cliffs

Beyond the deathless emerald shores

From the heartless grip of the Irish Sea.

The cold sharp wind wildly waltzing

Taunting the waves, embracing the sky

Tossing the withered umber grasses

Whispers across the unbroken stretch

Of rocky sandy shore washed with rugged color

Drifts a wordless song of sorrow and passion

Flying, falling around

The fragrant heath of rain kissed heather.

Against the lifeless sky stands chiseled

The womanly form of a dreamer

Born by the untamed wind

Born by the glorious sea.

The salt laced breezes rustle the tresses

Faded auburn with raven sheen

The enchanted eyes look forth

From the pure wind blown ivory face

Encircled by dancing ringlets

That sweep round its delicate frame.

Dark clouds hover

Above the mournful waters

Billowing, ominous

Flooding the earth with chasing shadows

A low mutter of thunder and then

The rain comes.

Pounding the restless surf

Bending the peaceful tendrils of grass

Sweeping the fair and beautiful face

Blinding the sparkling maiden eyes.

But the storm, this sudden onslaught

Is powerless to drive her away.

For this is her home,

Her soul

The wild seascape and relentless rains

That anchor her spirit only faster in the trodden soil.

A quick step is heard. . .

Hushed is the rain.

Soft footfalls coming over

The rough and muddy shore.

And a voice calls out.

It reaches her ear with a strange unseen beauty

And the lass, in surprise,

Turns about by the wings of the wind.

This time, no longer only she sees

The timeless barren shore

And natures arms offering only

Her bittersweet alms of heaven

. . .but the figure of a man.

He slows his steps, drawing near

And stops.

Her eyes meet his.

His - clear and near and true, roving brown

Her's bright and curious, a ceaseless sheen of jade.

She holds his gaze unwaveringly

His eyes that caress with unsaid love

With their steadfast luster

That reach her deep within

And he speaks.

What is it that he says to her

As the wind brushes his lips

Lifting his words to the blanket of sky

Who is he

This handsome young stranger

That beckons her back to that dusty high road

That runs down the bluff to the sea

Words sweet and edged with yearning

As the calm September rain

That cause her to follow him

And leave her sea behind?

-anna