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Where do the oceans go?

The waves get lost
tumbling between the shambles
of lived 'pon rocks,
the shells dissolved into crude Fibonaccis
and I have let my spirituality go
for a frank and forgiving answer:

"Mother nature don't give a damn!"

Today was 35 degrees and I joined Sydney
down at the beach where the seaweed
washes up in flocks along the shore.
That coogee smell...

Going shoeless across the ridges
engulfed in baked skins
scantily dressed, tanned silhouettes of sunglasses
swimmers who jog from windy cliffsides
down into where thongs drown in the hot sands
and then again, and over again.

Until below the cliffs she and I wander,
our wet bodies amidst the spitting salt waters
crab-shuffling over tenuous rocks made from
forgotten shells and razor oysters
as the waves reach from toe to ankle...

Where do these waves go?

Bathing in six foot deep rock pools,
the jade zebra fish dart out
as I dry out on boulders
that once formed the brow of cliff faces.

She meditates beside me
then, opening her eyes in salutation to the big blue
after a few attempts in the ocean's winds
holds the flame over a cigarette
until its butt is the colour of the sun
soft clouds from her mouth
all at once crooning gently,
bright glare on my book as I write this poem.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
Coogee is beach in Sydney, Australia named after the local aboriginal word 'koo-jah' meaning 'the smell of drying seaweed' or 'smelly place'. This poem is about a day their with a close friend of mine exploring the cliffsides, while both of us mused over existential dilemmas like why the oceans are salty, or why they're blue. This is a complete work to me and I have spent much time editing it, however feel free to un-complete it!
Editing stage: 


It is always good to explore new places through others' words.
Some good lines, but mostly enjoyed the last stanza.Can't think of anything to improve but lots of appreciation.


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

Follow me

The last stanza is a favourite of mine too, it was a somewhat surreal moment that occurred in front of me so subtly, I knew I just had to capture it! It seems to perfectly summarise the contradiction of myself and friends that I witness sometimes.

I love finding out words that were designed to describe my country, they seem to fit so much better than the rigid European terms whose inventors never saw the shore of my land. One day I hope to learn from the Indigenous so I can write in their language about this beauteous land.

Thankyou for the kind comment.

x Liam

author comment

Everyone here knows it, but I don't like verso libre. I like this. I wouldn't change but one thing-

"the jade zebra fish dart out" (you need an "s" after "dart(s)). (that's it.)

Ah, and it's blue because of the reflection of the sun through hydrogen.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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I appreciate you telling me why they're blue - it was confusing me for some time!

author comment
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