dabbling in reverie

The musings of a small town 20 year old working on some colorful patches to add to her quilt of life. Warning: the occasional elephant will be passing through

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“adrift on a torpid tide”
chalk pastel

“adrift on a torpid tide”

chalk pastel

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

-“Sea Fever” John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

-“Sea Fever” John Masefield

mind off, heart open

I swim happily, warm and content in a calm sea

treading between the shore and what lies beyond.

And then the undertow appears, sneaks upon me unbeknownst

It pulls and I fight, stroke hard against its lure

and then succumb

and out I go, out with the tide, sucked further and further into the vast unknown,

letting the current be my guide until I no longer know,

know if its the waves that draw me deeper or my own anxious legs.

Before I know it, I’m washing upon the shore,

left to ponder if the current really did come or not, if it was all a delusion.

I splash back outwards towards my in-between sanctuary.

And as swiftly as it fled, the current returns,

and already my body does not fight it, does not kick towards or away from its grip.

I’ve simply let go.

I’m drowning.

I’m beyond ready to get out on the ocean

I’m beyond ready to get out on the ocean