Tag Archives: ocean

This Sea Season

by Maura A. Conlon

Her body could wait no longer.

That’s how it happens, how a woman

Leaves for the hills or the sea, when the

One she loves is lured by quicksand, 

The quest for heroics, needing to be

a lauded one.

But far below his crown ascendant shimmered 

the sweetest red rose,

Perhaps you can smell it, the

one—in another lifetime—he might

Have draped along her smooth thigh 

at night,

Peering into her eyes, 

Trusting, finally, his own tidal song, how

She’d stood at the water’s edge, all along.

Waiting.

–September swirls, and the sunset sea bathes her body.

A seal alights, creates ripples, slithers into the

Ocean whose tides deepen to rose red.

She unloosens her skin’s threads, 

Weaves a blessing upon the green linen land,

Which blesses her in return, no second thought, 

no hesitation, at all.

This is love, she whispers: the wink of surrender,

The pulse of the wild current,

Holding her flesh in ecstasy, this sea season.

In Transport

by Maura A. Conlon

Her studio glows like Grand Central Station

in the middle of a plaza

in the middle of some Ocean

in the middle of the world

Astronomers come by for coffee, unfurl their charts

Metro bus drivers pull up seeking change for a $20

while composers and candle makers wire light with

music as they sit atop the dark.

Wild blue wind stirs jagged palm fronds

as fashion designers circle Matisse-like pillows

and speak of new lines of tartan skirts pleated

just above the knees.

At the end of the day which never ends

Ireland hums a tidal tune–no war songs or tales of blood–

only the mountain of a woman rising from the depths,

stringing her mane of seaweed hair around bows and decks of

ships that follow, in transport

to her studio

in the middle of a plaza

in the middle of some Ocean,

in the middle of your world.