African Breeze

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A tide of African air floods through,
Sweeps the Med in rhythms of blue heat.

Bare feet test troubled waters.
Remnants of an afternoon invasion,
Ruined sand castles occupy the beach.

The sea reaches for the sun
A gentle haze rises on tiptoes,
Dusty fingers itching and reaching
Until the day slips away behind the Maures.

In darkness her waters are flat, smooth, brooding
Barely moving in silent glides.
Harbor lights point to now and never,
Reflecting, as stars twinkle forever.

Morning comes without warmth or colors
Wrapped in a dirty flannel sky.
Reach no more whispers sea grass
On thick brownish slippers.

The Med slowly washes the jetties
One more pebble, one more sigh.
From Africa flows a breeze.

without colors

without colors

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

17 Responses to African Breeze

  1. tonyprance says:

    Nice one Emm…you have an amazing gift and thankyou for sharing …all the best

    Like

  2. PapaBear says:

    Hi Emm, you’ve been absent for a bit and missed. Glad to see you’re enjoying the Med and gifting us with your vision of life and the water. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. themodernidiot says:

    You suck, dude. You nail it like every time lol. The playful rhyme is nice, and compliments the elevated mood. Spring and sun bringing better reflections? And hey, when’s there gonna be a book of these I can buy, so I can say, “Hey, I know this chick?” 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • emmylgant says:

      Yes! A little sunshine goes a long way!
      There is a direct causal thing between elevating temperatures and mood, I suspect.
      I’ll reflect on that some more later.
      Dude! When (if) I publish I’ll give the book away to my seven steadfast samurais fans with or without an autograph, as prefered.
      Send me an address 😉

      Like

  4. Randstein says:

    Em, this is captivating with the imagery that plays in my mind. The undercurrent of emotion and time plays in “Harbor lights point to now and never, Reflecting, as stars twinkle forever.” And here; “Dusty fingers itching and reaching…Reach no more whispers sea grass On thick brownish slippers.” The layers of meaning wrapped in a beauty of nature and the spirit of being are like layers of paint on the artist’s canvas, each color dependent on the next to build the rich hues of the artist’s scene. My goodness! My mind has completely run away with this. Of course, the wee dragon likes nothing more than a runaway daydream. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. john zande says:

    Timely. It’s a red tide this season.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Tu la connais bien, Em, et tu la decris mieux.
    Elle et toi, vous etes merveilleuses ensemble.

    Liked by 2 people

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