I have an ocean inside my house,
Or maybe it’s inside my head.
It’s a long swim to the door—
If the doorbell rings
I think of Dorothy Parker,
arms ache like hell
It’s no fresh hell, just the same old agony—
Liners, mirroring the stars steam through my lounge.
Taunt me with their lamp lit revelry.
Foghorn blast steals my sleep as the fog chill and damp, ghosts across the sea.
While in the kitchen the cold lighthouse warns,
Beware the the island bench— reef sharp cutlery, rock-topped danger—
Raging gales flood my bed, my respite lost to find
Safety in my bath tub floating just offshore.
Leave the plug alone, just leave it, let me float alone.
In my dreams I recline on sun warmed sand,
The soft lap of your whispering in my ear
Tells of hills and rolling plains,
Of wedding gowns and tiny feet.
Yet still the tidal swell rocks my bed,
Leaving me seasick once again…
About the author:
John writes poetry daily and has published works on Eunoia Review, Spillwords and the Edgeofhumanity.
Blog: https://underlined6.wordpress.com/
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com