The sea insists
On an old rag of a song,
As a lone boat
Is bashed by a bay of a wind.


The sea persists with its
Kettledrum throng, a waterfall
Gong calling a storm.


Bones, bedded
In the cellar of time,
Moan and groan;
Their surfaced cries
Thrash the walls of the world.


The sighs of fathers
And sons rise
From below
To bellow and blow
In the loveless night.


Waves argue over rocks
And knock on the doors
Of the clouds.


Each breath of the sea
Is heavier
Than a whale;
Each movement of its force
Is sleeker than a shark.


Water praising the boom of its phrases;
Water banging
El Sur grande;
Haranguing time
With its life and its death.


A commotion
Of emotion; a rhythm
Unfolding;
Battle chants battering
The Earth’s sleeping face.


It is the sea of Big Sur,
Stirred in a thought
More vast than the sky.


It is the sea of Big Sur,
Shadowed by the soul
Of the moon,
Erasing the flesh
Of the land.


It is not even a moment
In the mood
Of the mind of creation,
This ocean washing
The bowl of a dream.

Peter Thabit Jones © 2016




From the forthcoming book POEMS FROM A CABIN ON BIG SUR by Peter Thabit Jones, 2011