Timing

Tidal breathing lunar pull ocean

Heaving  monthly passion waves.

Measures of timing in surely repelling  

Slow steady repeating gravity law

Winds of tomorrow and yesterday's keening

Fill canvas dreams as  keels argue sore

Rippling and driving in moments of yaw

Time tied in tidal moon fluctuation

Swinging and tolling to crash on the shore

As we spend our days

Hoping for more.

Reviews

[Ladysue]

This is such a beautiful flowing poem..it feels so natural and like home to me..loved it!

[Terpsichore]

We can only really ever go with the flow though. As for hoping for more, I've heard it said that less is more.

[Tomás Ó C..]

We spend our days hoping for more.. and spiling enjoyment of what we have...

[Donald Meikle]

spilling or spoiling?

[Tomás Ó Cárthaigh]

Spoiling... I think!!!

[HungryGhost]

Beautiful! I'm sure I could hear the ocean as I was reading this (though I live near none). :) Care to read mine?

[Sasha]

Beautiful Poem !
loved it!

[Ivory]

The flow of this poem , the rise and fall of the words, I agree mimic the ocean tides.
Very good : )

[Corset]

seems a lot going on in the back rush, or cows be hormonal, cycling out on the hill, all together now while the bull sleeps 'neath the shaded tree surely tuckered out by now from all the hopefulness and mooing, and black and white Holstein puzzle backs.

[John]

With no active verb till the later part, the movement of the poem attempts to mimic the implacable movement of the sea under the influence of the moon as well finding a parallel motion in human breathing and in the regular flow of menstrual blood. Life and the physical universe are united in these predictable rhythmic patterns. I take from the last line a comment on the insurgent human consciousness that aspires for more than the natural world can provide. A poem that sits uneasily on the screen or page. It demands to be read aloud to realise its full effect.

[emmajoy]

'Winds of tomorrow and yesterday's keening ~ Fill canvas dreams as keels argue sore' . I've read your poem twice, one aloud, those two lines have an extraordinary sound, a distinct beat. There's something about the coming and going of tides, their movement mesmerises, teases time, and all the while the moon plays his/her puppeteer's role from way up there to down here. Your poem truly does tell that eternal tale .. tis lovely.