They say grief comes in waves
varying in size and intensity;
some start small, moving silently,
might seem harmless but engulf
me within no time and I
was never taught how to swim.

Thrashing and flailing in the water
I find it difficult to breathe.
The seas of sadness pull me far
into their abyss where there is no
light or hope to get out of the misery;
sometimes even that feels enticing and comforting.

On other days these waves come
roaring loud in the ears, threatening
to steal my ground away from me, often
I brave to surf over them with the
help of distractions and they
recede, scheming to gulp me down later.

Wonder how I end up on these shores every time
while on a train or on my bed, in a
classroom or in a conference hall, amongst
the crowded streets and when alone,
memories of yesterday strewn like sea shells
lead me to the waters and I can always hear their elegies.

And when the moon shines its brightest
on them, you get to see the scene of tranquillity
but deep inside my heart there is
a storm brewing slowly that takes
various names every season, maybe there is
one named after you too, who knows.

Do you want to come with me down
to the ocean of tears? We could let
those waves kiss our feet while we watch
the sunset together, I will tell you
all my stories and you could share yours too.
I hope you know how to swim.

Hit after hit
head under water (inebriated)
unable to swim,
I choked,
unsure if by God's hands or my own.
But by God I swallowed it all
then begged for more.

I sank until my feet hit the bottom
stirring the sand around my legs
then upwards.
The ocean floor obscured,
my vision obstructed.
Desperately I swiped
in vain,
and swiped again,
but still the obstruction remained.
And God laughed
and I choked
either by God's hands or mine,
by miracle or design.
Am I Him
or Him me?

Seething with questions
sung and unheard,
then yelled and ignored,
I finally lay myself to rest.
A deep sigh escaping my breast,
I surrendered to rest.

Sleep overcame me
and I dreamt of pearls,
that one day this heaviness
would give birth to pearls.
But alas I awaken
and in my night terror
I had stirred the sand again.
I do not remember.
God let me remember.

I dream of pearls
and of pearls I dream.
Yet still am I to awaken
to this dream.
The sand begins to settle
but the hand stirs again,
never lain to rest,
the obstruction remains.

Sometimes I see glimmers,
gleams and glistens
of the pearls I've only
seen in my dreams.
And by God's hands they gleam
as they always did.
But my hands became rough
from the sand that stirs
and I fear to ever touch,
a pearl,
to ensure that I never
grind her back to sand.
For God shall laugh
and I shall choke.

"Stay sleeping, little one.
Dream of pearl,"
He said.
And deliver He did
oblivion and pearls.

We were woollen
as the coach pulled up
alongside the C of E school

our swimming provided free
and municipal
so the stung eyes and barked, sodden ideas
were mitigated

at least if we fell
into the rank brown swells nearby
our inevitable drowning
could be offset:

the boy could swim
and was a king at buying the 5p
Highland Toffee from the machine

do you walk upon
water the exigent wet
do fishes know swim

I visited you today,
felt you crunch against my toes,
smelt you from a mile away,
heard you in your throes.

You covered me in wet kisses,
as I languished in your swell,
you promised me an ocean,
one you knew so well.

I took you in my mouth,
let you spill down my chin,
and as I walked away, I smiled,
knowing I could still taste you on my skin.

exotic fish swim
aquarium-like setting
~ Roku screensaver






Mark Toney © 2021

The Babylonian hanging gardens is vanished
                            maybe the fairies tucked it away.
Lo the clouds swim on your dry leaves, rainfalls
                                                        hum on the way!