Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Half light

I watch this sea

in daylight

in half light

and in total darkness,

finding it mysterious and ever-changing.

I listen to its song,

the even ebb and flow of the tide

gentle

rough

gentle.

I don’t check the time,

knowing by the sound that the tide has come in.

When I wake,

as the dawn breaks over the horizon,

I know that the water will have receded.

The tide will be out

and spread across the beach,

scattered like drunken sailors on leave,

will be messages from the deep,

interspersed with cylindrical sand shapes

where the water has leached away

waiting for the moment the tide pushes its way

inland again

the land’s thirst for the sea

sated.

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Every smile

I sat upon the sand

watching as he played amid the waves,

catching each swell as I’d taught him.

With every rise and fall,

and every smile and laugh,

I could see the past years

and the pain and stress he endured

melt away

and for those few carefree moments

he was a kid again,

one who had no worries in front of him

except for whether he might swallow too much

of the sea…

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Sea Fever by John Masefield

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

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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.

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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.

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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)

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Words by John Masefield

Voice by SirenSong1208


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New ones

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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.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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 Photographs taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


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Adventure

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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.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 


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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.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken from White Noten, unsourced


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Depths

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There is a pleasure to be had

in waiting upon the shore

for the tide to arrive.

To rush the beach

in a fury

in a passionate arrival.

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It is the pleasure to be had

in anticipation

that arouses my spirit

which makes me feel alive

as I ponder the depths of my soul.

The desires that lay beneath my skin

those that I cannot imagine

but which I want him to unveil.

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I hunger to swim within the depths

to go deeper and deeper

my breath becoming harder to catch

frightening and thrilling

all at once.

Never knowing what I will find

as the light recedes and darkness engulfs me

but knowing that whatever it is

I will forever be changed.

I will be

deep

and dark

and wild.

.

Like the sea.

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced