Siren Whispers

Siren Song


Leave a comment

Sea of whispers

This sea of whispers

drowns me

when I venture too close,

the tide catching me

in its midst. 

A reminder of being touched

by the vigor of your waves.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


2 Comments

Man of the sea

FullSizeRender

He is my man of the sea.

My Poseidon.

Reigning over me

trident in hand

steely eyed gaze

and proud stance.

He keeps me his captive

without words.

My soul responding to the fury

within him

a storm brewing

of tidal proportions.

He is confident and sure

aware of his dominion

of his seductive lure.

His trident making the earth shake with its power.

But it takes only a word from him

to set me to trembling

every part of me aching

to lose myself in this fathoms deep yearning.

His goddess of the sea.

The object of his deepest desires.

The woman he’s waited a lifetime for

to finally unleash the power beneath the waves

knowing I will match him

swell for swell.

:

*This is not a new post but someone reminded me of it and it is one of my favorites so I thought I’d give it another bash.

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph of Poseidon and Amphitrite found on Pinterest


4 Comments

Sea Fever by John Masefield

Click here for audio

In anticipation of my imminent holiday, a sea themed poem by John Masefield

IMG_5831

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 grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.

.

I must go gown 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 a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

(John Masefield, 1878-1967)

:

Words by John Masefield

Voice by SirenSong1208


4 Comments

New ones

IMG_9045IMG_9038IMG_9039IMG_9485IMG_5847IMG_9042IMG_9043IMG_9334

They will go without me, to this place I grew to love. Rugged and wild, it spoke to my deep-seated need to be by the sea; to feel her power and her fury, watching her in awe from a distance.

My children will hike to the top of Bray Head and sit and marvel at the Irish Sea, knowing I am across the water looking back at them from my own perch. But I will miss that hike, through the woods, cool and dark but dappled with occasional sunlight. Eventually we’d make our way out into the open, looking down at the town and looking up to see the cross at the very top of the mountain. A place of pilgrimage.

These memories are vivid, stacked upon each other from each year we created them. A tradition. Each visit different and yet the same. The path was well-worn and my feet knew every inch of it. I never looked down to see where I was going, my eyes were far too busy looking around me to see if anything had changed; drinking in the view as if it were the last time. Two years ago it was. I knew it then and every moment was bittersweet. I devoured those days and I hold them close now. I might return, but not in the same way. This year I will not sit high atop that mountain with the sea hundreds of feet below me. Draped in blessed silence and reverence. White tipped waves rushing over the blue green like horses. I will not take the path along the cliff walk to Greystones, my heart swelling with every step as I am bracketed by the sea to my left and verdant hills alive with gorse on my right.

I will not make those memories this year. I will make new ones. My own.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

 Photographs taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


1 Comment

Adventure

IMG_1573

The time spreads before me,

shining and restless.

I count the days left in my head,

my smile widening as I think of the plans I’ve made.

My adventure.

Will she be everything I anticipate,

the smells,

the sounds,

that my soul hungers for?

I think she will.

She waits for me,

eager to embrace me once again.

It’s been too long since I’ve felt her touch,

heard her voice,

and been reduced to silence by her beauty.

Each day will be rendered with a luster

I cannot find elsewhere

and which I will carry with me when I leave,

leaving a part of myself

on her shores.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 


10 Comments

To drown

A heart wide open

with nothing to buoy her

amid crested waves

falling beneath the surface

to drown of her own volition

in a sea of empathy

a relentless tide that spills

over her

pulling and pitching her headfirst 

into the deep

the darkness feeding

her exhaustion.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


6 Comments

Beneath the surface

The older I get,

the more I realise

just how like the sea I am.

It was always blue to me,

that liquid expanse of horizon.

Melancholic with longing.

A churning, churlish mass of feeling,

everything happening beneath the surface,

much like my own insides.

A soul at turns calm or chaotic.

But as quickly as it is stirred,

bellowing forth with a tempest of emotion,

it is released and gentles itself.

Changeable tides

that ebb and flow as response,

some inner metronome

that keeps a steady beat

like my heart.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from White Noten, unsourced