Bob Goddard

The Unmade Sea

I stumble from my unmade bed
To watch the unmade sea
Where mighty swells surge to the beach
And crash and churn, cold fingers reach
To claim the souls of wounded gulls
That limp among the broken hulls
Strewn by the surf-washed quay

Offshore the banshees rage and howl
To whip the spindrift’s scream
The ocean’s blankets toss and tumble
Sheets of foam criss-cross and crumple
Grey-green pillows topped with blue
Heap upon heap of wrack and spume
In Poseidon’s fevered dream

Beneath the churning, turbid waters
Below the roiling froth
Deep down where hungry shadows flit
Are silent screams when bodies bit
The crunch of shell and squelch of brains
Leave whispered hopes and scant remains
In silt and muddy broth

So as you drift in restful slumber
Spare a thought for those
Who lie beneath the ceaseless waves,
Know not the peace of earth-bound graves
But roll and rock in fitful sleep
Amid the nightmare of the deep
Their bones to decompose

And when along the sun-washed strand
A wreath of kelp you find
Remember then the maelstrom ferment
And spray and scud and tide and torment
From which the lords of chaos gripped
And tore that stem from rocks they ripped
With hidden lives entwined

Copyright © Bob Goddard 2018

Bob Goddard is a Norfolk-based journalist, author and publisher of fiction and non-fiction books. Details on his website –

About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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1 Response to Bob Goddard

  1. Antoinette says:

    Bob, your images knocks the reader on their butt. Excellent writing. I’ve read this three times and I keep coming back for more.

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