Tide Turn

A full moon, and the tide swollen by rain;

Rain lashing on the window, wild as rage -

My pen is stirring on the unspoilt page

In scribble circles, feeling round this pain.


Like tunnels leading deeper than my mind,

Or ropes in hopeless tangles, loosely curled,

Sprawling intestines looped around the world

My pen describes; this pain is ill-defined.


The tide has turned: so smooth the surface sits,

But now the current strongly drags beneath.

A leaf that hovers still, moves like a breath

Blown suddenly. Snatched seaward, twigs and bits.


All watery debris rides the sea-sucked road

Leaf mould, and rags of moonlight, glistening threads;

Down beats the rain. My pain flies out in shreds

As ocean swallows back her salty load.


This pen slides free, and speaks my troubling thought.

What held me back from spilling out that pain?

Was it the brooding moon, blinded by rain,

Or the flood-tide; my mind a leaf, flood caught?


◄ Five Thirty am

Modern love ►


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Freda Davis

Fri 23rd Mar 2012 11:16

Thanks all. Don't apologise for 'highbrow' Harry. I think there are echoes of 'Dover Beach' in this one although its not a sonnet. The pull of the tide. We lived for a while in Lancaster, and I had opportunities to watch the battle of river and tide often, and feel the correspondence with inner feelings.

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John Coopey

Thu 22nd Mar 2012 22:52

Very deft, Freda.
Very pictorial and the abba rhyming pattern is very subtle; it is well complemented by the strong caesuras which break up the iambic lines and reinforce the enjambment.
Cracking images esp the one Harry cites and also "rags of moonlight, glistening threads".
Yes, Richard Burton - you sould get him to do the audio

<Deleted User> (6895)

Thu 22nd Mar 2012 21:08

Unfailing as always!

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M.C. Newberry

Thu 22nd Mar 2012 16:22

I can imagine this being read out loud by Richard Burton, against intercut images of a hand and quill over a blank piece of parchment and a storm venting its spleen beyond a drenched window. Superior stuff that conjures up the conflict within and without!

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Harry O'Neill

Thu 22nd Mar 2012 16:11

I can`t disentangle why, but this strikes me as a `romantic` piece...there`s something Wordsworthian about it - but secularly so.

The rhyme prevents the drag of the tide from spilling over the edges of the poem...the word which broods in its `sprawling intestines` is
`troubled` but it`s a managed trouble.

`All watery debris rides the sea-sucked road`

is a very fine line indeed.

Sorry if this sounds a bit `highbrow` Freda, but thanks.

<Deleted User> (10123)

Thu 22nd Mar 2012 12:36

The night-owls have it. A draught of ale for the courts of twigged minds, that so desire the quill to speak of hurt and pain, it must, it shall score the blankness of the page.
Ah, enough of that said he, let us see what wonders fall before us. So your hovering pen was grabbed and smote the savage beast of pristeen page. And what a treat it is too. With greatest thanks for sharing this. Yours muchly, Nick.

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