Moody Lady

The Med is not speaking to me.

She rolls in green and muddy waves
Slowly eating at the wall of sand
Reclaiming the space
Medville took away.

The Med is patient.
There is no anger
But a strong
Steady rhythm
Like a heartbeat
Plowing through
Moving mountains
One wet curl at a time.

This is her world
She will do what she will do
We are just pilgrims passing through.

Setting sun on my back
The Med reaches for my shadow
Touches its hair and releases
Some driftwood for my attention.

She is a moody lady.

Moody lady

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
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24 Responses to Moody Lady

  1. nirbhayasindia says:

    Too good. How do you do it . . .


  2. Pas surprenant.
    Elle est une femme!
    Tu crees encore la magie.


  3. Unlike you, of course. Smiles


  4. themodernidiot says:

    “One wet curl at a time.” brilliant!


  5. john zande says:

    I use this word a lot after reading your poems: gorgeous.


  6. I really enjoyed the way you go from a universal feeling about the human condition “We are just pilgrims passing through.” to the attention the Med has just for you when she teases you with the “driftwood”, made me smile: she knows how not to take herself too seriously. I see that.


  7. makagutu says:

    it looks so calm


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