Who Claims the Sea
Poetry by Joanne Kathleen Farrell
Did anyone know the depth of the sea
when clusters of fossils moved?
When did they climb under the rocks
and hide in the sands of time.
Was this before the great mountains moved
or just a dream of mine?
Who knew the first blue green waters
or the morning river waves?
Was it the indigo sky, I ask
or the rain on the forest glade?
Some say the turtles knew them all very well
when four footed creatures knew the sea.
Now the beasts dwell in green forest palate
eating on shreads of grass.
Who claims the sea
or the tide that swells
over the rambling beasts with legs?
I've seen the ugly grip of men
who try to capture the folding white waves.
The waves tremble when they cross over
as if reaching for a saving hand.
I have seen the blood spill of these men
and the August drought they cause.
They drain the broken heart you see
and leave us listening for a silent pause.
The silence was broken by a hurricane
who pounded through at dawn.
The roar was like no other.
No longer could silence exist.
Sirens blew over the darkest land.
The sky could not be found.
Who owns the small new born hand
With the pale soft gentle skin?
Is it the sinking sun tonight
or the late night blazing flint?
I stroke it gently as the night passes on
until awakened by a strange light.
I see light leaking
from an east sailing ship
covered in the darkest lifeless cloud.
I ask the Captain who owns this ship
that can emit streams of blazing rays
He does not answer and closes his eyes
While the light drifts into the melting sea.
"Who owns the wintry roads", a voice asks
"beneath skyscrapers and towers of glass?"
"Who claims the rail ties covered in snow
or the engines that constantly blast?"
Is there a deed to nobel stone castles
or bonds on the Greek porticos?
For who owns
really claims nothing
but selfish wondering life.
No one owns this small hand in mine
Not even my own red beating heart.
Nothing could capture this peaceful soul at my chest.
It cannot be tagged or sold.
For the rest, I suspect anyone can guess
that only the constellations know.
By Joanne Kathleen Farrell