Come Light.
There are times when the sea
is not a blue ocean,
nor even water
but some violent explosion
which can only be summoned by Gods
for, when bursting with
over-keen energy
it wells then hurls itself over the rocks,
biting great pieces off cliffs
like some ravenous
beast whose rage knows no limits,
it's roar never stops.
A deafening storm frights those inside
exposed cottages
who experience disorder of senses
enough for them to hide
when froth hits the chimney tops,
as until more quiet arrives
the night heaves
with zealous wind-demons cavorting
in lace-caps, sandy-socks,
grit-filled ribbons
and the saltiest long seaweed frocks.
Pray that, come light,
the worst of an almighty gale
is blown out,
to reveal no tragic cost and a new day,
in restoring order again,
shows not a boat or fisherman lost.
