Sunday, February 19, 2012

Cathedral Dreams in Salt and Sand

"Folded Water," by David Noah, Winterville, Georgia

Athens, Georgia
February 19, 2012

When Gaia dreams of happy times
she makes an August beach again
and recreates our former lives
the swirl of sibling – parent – child
converge once more along the strand
to build a playscape castle-strong
with towers, turrets, moats and walls
well fortified with broken shells
to hold against onrushing tide
and toddler joy unleashed on sand
quite unconstrained, still unashamed
to taste the foam fresh off the ocean
chasing wavelets back to sea
from splashing edge of tidal line
immersed in rhythms of the deep.

     The sparkling whoosh
            and hissing sigh
     a pause and whoosh
            and hiss again
     eternity lies
            in sparkle and sigh
     in plaintive cries
            that pierce the tide
     the shriek of gull
            and wide-eyed child
     the wind, the marsh
            the march of time
     as oceans ebb
            as oceans flood
     the line recedes
            the line returns
     embracing our castles
            erected in fun
     erasing our idols
            to midsummer sun
     reclaiming our castles
            of sparkle and sigh
     as pound and whoosh
            subside through hiss
     to sigh and pause
            and pound again
     till all lies flat
            along the strand
     our traces cleansed
            beneath the sky.

The beach reboots with each new tide
and with each dawn come fresh new signs
the dance of bird and fiddler crab
their stride and scuttle mark short lives
impressed on prints of last night’s tide
with curving ripples caught in sand
where mornings saw us start again
to build new castles at the line
where tidal reach exceeds its grasp
and drops new loads of broken lives
from shell-borne burden, structures rise
and laughter thrives amidst the sighs
when daylight fades on childhood lives
small silhouettes cross red-streaked sky
as glowing days give way to night.

     So year by year
            we’d go again
     to Gaian dreamscapes
            salt and sand
     and strings of days
            outside of time
     to build our children
            castle strong
     shaped and formed
            by loving hands
     and fortified
            by strands of sun
     with salt of oceans
            salt of tears
     when dreams erode
            like drying sand
     when fresh winds rise
            when waves pile high
     when time returns
            as bracing tide
     it’s we who long
            and lag behind
     their fortunes rise
            from times gone by
     in Gaia’s dreams  
            where joy thrives
     their sun ascends
            to sparkle, sigh
     from sand cathedral
            dreams of life.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

It Takes a Brave Naïveté

Athens, Georgia
February 2, 2012

It takes a brave naïveté
to have much hope for humankind –
we weave our souls with strands of gray.

Ideals unused too soon decay;
to trust their hold on life is blind
and takes a great naïveté.

In justifying lies each day
while dreams of peace and love unwind
we weave our souls with strands of gray.

Yet blessed saints who calm the fray
and face down hate by staying kind
display such brave naïveté

That so inspired we boldly say
we’ll work to heal the world, but find
we weave our souls with strands of gray.

We see in life a noble way
and pray to leave our past behind –
we crave a brave naïveté
but weave our souls with strands of gray.