Rock port (an experiment in old skool poetry)

There is the place
by the rock port
where haze veils
barely faze the blue
where mischief breezes
seize and tease
a thousand strands
of hair
Where spray
from the jetty
catches the air
forming a jetstream
of dew
Where whirlwind wisps
dance pirouettes
chilling the skin
in tingling rivulets
Where soft sea sneezes
whistle and wheeze
nipping the eartips
and tickling cheeks
Where mirthful
circles meekly
whisper and flirt
whipping up
white cyclones
of sandy dirt
Where raving winds
rape the crest
of the wave
Stripping the salt
from the rise
Draping landscapes
in silencing mist
burning the whites
of the eyes
The rock port’s
a place
of tempests eternal
Where night beacons
beckon
through the
churning heights
of foam
Where sea sights
cease to rest
in seconds
and memories
in spaces, alone

c. 2001, 2008 Evan Gilling

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