Saturday, April 30, 2011

and drift flung by the sea


Sea weed. Alone. On a beach. Little Howrah Beach, April 2011.

It's hard being tired all the time.

Sea Poppies, by H. D.

Amber husk
fluted with gold,
fruit on the sand
marked with a rich grain,

treasure
spilled near the shrub-pines
to bleach on the boulders:

your stalk has caught root
among wet pebbles
and drift flung by the sea
and grated shells
and split conch-shells.

Beautiful, wide-spread,
fire upon leaf,
what meadow yields
so fragrant a leaf
as your bright leaf?

4 comments:

Who Is Afraid of Alfred Hitchcock? said...

Hi! Kris...
A couple Of nice things going on here:
Nice photograph, (Of Seaweed) Nice Poem By H.D Entitled Sea Poppies, and Nice Quote that is very apropos...
Thanks, for sharing!
DeeDee ;-D

Roddy said...

I know where you are coming from. I have been wood cutting the last few days. I'm not too bad whilst I keep working, it is once I stop that tiredness overtakes me.

Kris said...

DeeDee, it is a lovely little poem, isn't it?

Roddy, you were asking for it.

Roddy said...

Asking for what? I actually enjoy the hard work involved in wood cutting.