Barefoot Poetry

SS Matthews


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On the Rocks

This is where I find her,
Where rocks tip truth into sea.
This where my mind knows
Not to accept what it sees.

Pushing my life to the edge of the storm,
I come to the ocean a lie.
But dreaming may mend this image of self
Where ego concedes with a sigh.

And then the gale comes
In thundering waves
Assailing these firm jetty stones.
And when she arrives
Reality dies
Wistfully walking in squalls.

This is when I see her,
Long hair, long dress, long limbs
All white in dusk,
All grace in movement.
Eyes closed, she whirls,
Hair flying, she leaps stone to stone,
Dress flowing pirouettes the illusion
Of limbs beckoning to me.

So I come,
Whenever the wind rides fierce water,
dragging darkness and uncertainty behind.

I come to the ocean to dance.

poetry by SS Matthews

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Day’s End

Whale hunt
Day’s End

On the last of days, I lit a Camel.
Nothing pleases like a final smoke.

Puff.

The children of technology
embark upon a diatribe
of why they cannot end.

Puff.

The keepers of the faith
know how it is written.
It has to be this way.

Puff.

So they ignore the ocean’s last wail,
the embers of a fire dying,
the stillness of the wind.

Puff.

“This matters!”
they scream.
“We are important!”
they rale.
But the smoke is good
and I am finished…

Puff…

SS Matthews
Wilmington Blues April 2000 vol. 1 Num. 3