NaPoWriMo #29: Herring Feast

A lone spout on the rolling sea,
towering above the surf.
The first signal of a great summer feast
and the first dinner guests start arriving.

The spouts billow out from the waves
followed by flukes breaking the water
like banners for the rest of the pod
directing them to the shoal.

The ring of bubbles rises,
a circle formed in the depths,
a net with no rope or mesh
in which the herring jostle.

The cavalcade of whales erupts,
mouths agape as though calling,
engulfing the school in unison,
gorging on the plentiful bounty

before turning and descending
into the ocean blue once more
to lay their trap anew
and relish the summer currents.

NaPoWriMo #10: Wanderer

Wild gales whip the Southern Ocean,
spraying salt and surf asunder
across the waves,
an invisible conductor
of an Antarctic opera.

A cross-shaped glider,
black wings against the clouds,
a pink bill and ice white feathers.
The mother albatross soars above
the thrashing sea,
barely moving a wingtip,
glides through the theatre of her struggle,
her mission's end in sight.

On a blizzard-besieged hillside
a mess of black down,
his bill as pink as his mother's,
huddles against the chill,
weathering the winter alone
till a familiar shape plummets
out of the freezing tempest.

The chick feasts on what scraps
his wandering mother could scrounge,
meagre offerings from the unyielding waves.

Not long now,
and the ocean will call her away once more.

NaPoWriMo #9: Eyes of the White Pointer

Seals dare to dither in the churning sea,
in the depths lurk silent silhouettes
about to embark on a killing spree.

For just offshore is a ferocious threat,
a black-eyed creature half shadow half ghost,
in the depths lurk silent silhouettes

of gleaming teeth. The great white of the coast,
the dead-stare shark, yet very much alive,
a black-eyed creature half shadow half ghost.

The white pointer looks up then starts to dive,
its massive bulk lurches out of the gloom,
the dead-stare shark, yet very much alive.

The white shark rockets up, herald of doom,
it snatches its prey, leaps above the waves,
its massive bulk lurches out of the gloom.

The surf churns, the ocean now a red haze,
seals dare to dither in the churning sea.
It snatches its prey, leaps above the waves,
about to embark on a killing spree.

NaPoWriMo #7: Waters of Oblivion

Shoreline, aquamarine and stained
with fossilised bones and mangled driftwood.
Scavenging crabs mingle
in the oasis of rotting fish.
Balding gulls and ocean-going vultures
perch on the prize,
a skeletal whale carcass putrefying the sand.

The surf boils over along stove rocks.
Out in the depths beyond the reef,
beyond the boundary of bleach-white coral
the sharks blend into the gloom.
Where pallid sunlight is extinguished
beats with no need for sight
wait to rise from their domain.

NaPoWriMo #22: Manta Flotilla

Okay, this is a bit earlier in the day than usual, but since I'm on a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon this weekend, I thought it better to release this poem earlier. Featuring one of my favourite settings for poems, the animal in this one is a bit more off-kilter than usual.

Manta Flotilla

The Indian subcontinent
reaches out into the ocean,
a current caressing its coast.

Sometimes the current
carries creatures with it,
creatures on a journey.

Out of the endless blue
a manta ray appears,
the eagle of the waters.

Then two, three, six
follow their leader
with great sweeping fins.

They follow the highway
around the southern coast,
heading for the Bay of Bengal,

where the flotilla will find
the reefs to raise their young,
and the current goes on its way.