J.N.C.Ross

across the rough wooden planks

And finally feel the soft sands

of the very edge of the continent.

“Hello La Mar. It is I again.”

-

This is the Great Gulf.

This is where I spent my childhood,

where I first fell in love with the Sea.

This is my Home.

She is La Mar.

-

I approach rather shyly,

kick around some sand,

then set my feet forward intentionally,

inching forward towards the

great, dark, intimidating water.

She immediately rears up to greet me,

soaking the bottoms of my rolled up trousers.

I take a step back, but then venture forwards

in full remembrance.

She is still the same.

She has not changed.

-

Only then do I look up and see

it is the Harvest New Moon,

And the Milky Way is stretching out

her blanket of diamonds,

reflecting off La Mar

like hundreds of luminescent pearls

on the deep Sea floor.

-

I jump up,

swing ‘round and around,

kick up the water and sand,

and looking up,

jump as high as I can

with my arms outstretched as if to

snatch up the stars in my hands.

Out of breath, I collapse in the sand.

Lay down my head to get the whole view.

Wide open and open horizons on every side.

“You are silly

And a little ridiculous.

You will get sand in your hair.”

But I keep softly smiling to myself.

I am free

And I find it hard to care. 

Our last sunset on the Gulf 

is sinking fast.

I jump up from my writing,

shoulder my pack

And 

      Run!

And run fast!

I run like a child who does not wish to miss a minute.

Cram my hat down onto my head

to keep the wind from stealing it.

-

I stop only for objects of curiosity.

(I do not get tired. I am invincible!)

Bend down to pick up a gull’s feather.

I have already the prize!

-

So I run on!

(narrowly dodge a beached jellyfish)

and looking at the surf,

some strange, dark object

needs investigation.

-

A Sea Turtle, some loggerhead .

She runs up the bank and is swept 

back into the Sea.

But she is not daunted.

She is created for this!

She is stronger

         and quicker

than the waves.

She is made for the Sea

and the Sea for her.

“Come on, come on…”

and “Ah, now she is safely ashore.”

I watch her make her way up the beach.

(Scare away a bullying crab, covering his hole.)

Until she finds her nest in the sand dunes.

-

I run on!

And keep running!

After all, I was made for this.

I am stronger

         and quicker.

I have the prize!

I was made for the Sea

And she was made for me.

Beauty’s face smiled towards

but not at me.

Or maybe she was

when i wasn’t looking.

-

Wake up!

to absurdity

from the refreshing sense of a dream.

Clench your teeth against the shock

,returning to conscious reality.

-

Like a meteor piercing the atmosphere

and screaming towards the land,

the friction of their opposing forces

wears down the great speeding colossus

to a tiny grain of sand.

-

It burrows itself white hot

into Earth’s thick skin.

So too an alien thought 

burrows into a man. 

-

Place both feet down on the floor.

Curl your toes against the rough wooden boards

As you peer through the grimy window 

And discern what sort of day it is.

-

There.

The day rushes back at you

like a tidal wave

by the scent of coffee

and eggs-over-easy

curling through the crack in the window pane.

-

The fit is over.

-

And now what you want is to drink a cup

And to see the morning paper

And after breakfasting

To sit on the front porch

And have a smoke.

-

And perhaps Nature is smiling

but surely not at me.

Or maybe she was 

but i simply wasn’t looking.

-

then one,

no particular,

waking suddenly morning

i catch it.

I don’t know

“What can you do?”

I don’t know what to tell you.

Anymore than what you’ve heard

a hundred times or more.

-

“Do it my way, its easy.

Stop thinking.”

I believe you, i do

but it just isn’t my way.

-

I don’t know

When your best mate’s company 

even won’t keep from leaving you empty.

And you can’t keep filled up with coffee

until you just hate the taste of it.

-

When the hard, good work is done

and you turn towards the westering  sun

and you wish it wasn’t

Forced to  turn to a dark indoors again.

-

And your hungry but food doesn’t fill,

and you say out loud

like a vow

to the dying day

“i hope a will”

-

“one day i will”

-

I don’t know 

When at nighttime your head’s terrible loud

and a thousand stonehard truths

turn to sand piles of doubt.

And a beautiful woman lures you into a dream

And somehow you feel its all so deceiving

To sleep like you are not

when you know you are

Empty.

-

Are you worn out

strung out

torn out

wrung out?

-

Do you have some kind of 

Cure for me?

I don’t think you understand me

at all i think i’m crazy.

I don’t know

-

I don’t know

-

The more a man knows 

the greater he is filled

with sorrow that

is nothing.

-

But you have eaten the fruit of knowledge

and you can’t give it back.

You’ve lost the illusion in your eyes.

You’ll have to learn to live blind

or  shoulder your pack

-

Walk steadily blind forward

into the stumbling white light

of the beautiful forever empty

,the black,

and get crowded 

into infinity.

i stretch out a searching hand

to you and

i am crippled 

by another bout 

of self confidence.

-

“how difficult

is our epoch.

how hard to understand.”

the words ran

and ran again.

on my way to work,

on my way to bed,

on my way 

to sleep how difficult

is our epoch.

-

did you bring me 

all this way

all these years

all this time,

-

shoved me into it

broke my knees for it

wore my heart out for it

to show me

how i walk in circles

in these woods.

-

i’m lost in these Woods.

-

you

you

you

are a poison

in my marrow

makes my very bones ache.

-

how you make 

me

burn.

like hell.

-

how you make 

me 

hurt.

like a women.

like Love

like Love 

like 

Love.

-

let me be.

(don’t leave me!)

but let me be.

-

but i 

please don’t 

can’t leave

do me this

You love me 

To so undignified

And emasculated 

To laugh and so

Dance and

Love so you

call it “god”

“Get him!”

Like a hound

You tell God

“Get him!”

-

Please ignore

The man in the corner.

(The one

with the bright eyes

And the 

Dynamite.)

He’ll never light

it anyhow he never

has yet.

Still, I wouldn’t 

No I would not

Offer him a light

As a joke.

-

Here! Just let me laugh

for you a little louder

To drown out the cries

and desperate sighs.

Here, let me tell you

a few more lies.

-

Or you can tell me

all about your life

And how you never wasted any time

I laugh “of course

you have, you

wasted mine.”

-

There see now my friend

is weeping

and he nearly said

something even mean.

-

I should I think really go etc.

These visits are always so etc.

They really should happen more etc.

We will see each other again of course…

etc.

-

When it is more convenient

And i can take this animal off his leash.

I’d hate really for you to see

how he comes out 

When mood takes me,

Saying passionate and reasonable 

and honest things.

-

It is unsettling really

So you see I keep

him here on this leash

of solitude and civility

And drown him till he goes to sleep,

weeping in his misery. 

-

And all he ever did was speak

what I have always seen

Right in front of me.

  “And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.                                                                       And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.   In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.”

       I have said before, and still feel, I am primarily an observer of the world and

occasionally a commentator if there is something worth saying. I do not feel like a 

working cog in this great machine.

       If I bear any truth inside of myself I hope, rather than merely to vocalize it

and so send it off into the ether of other men’s minds, to carry it deep within and

allow it to excrete from my whole being and existence. Like a fragrant aroma or

aura of light. Like the wordless prayer, a weeping prophet, a solitary tree, like a

group of old men and boys huddled around the fire, telling old tales and myths, and

like the vastness of the Sea which speaks prayers and gushes out her heart’s

desires and joys and sorrows, by her very existence.

       Grant me, God, a life of quietness with days of peace. And if am denied your

peace because of the giddiness of man and his perverse hatred and over hastiness,

then let me die fighting for it, and for simplicity of life, a death in silence. Let me

have my revenge on chaos and passion and the evil fortunes of the world by

concealing, all of my life, the war of inner passions from all but my conscious and

my God. And on my last day, when you take back your breath from my lungs, and

Earth takes back earth, if I have remained quiet, I will have had my revenge, as

the shadow gives way to the real man, walking tall upon new ground. And passion,

with nothing left for it to consume, will consume itself, and will be consumed also

by the very flames which lap up my mortal skin.

I can think of no words so sweet

Nor so old

Nor so thoroughly sad,

Yet severe and bold.

-

If I cannot but weep

Then I’ll weep through

The night and never sleep

Till morning rise

With Earth anew.

-

These nights are my meditation 

Upon the streets.

Quietly listening to mothers weep

And the hungry children who cannot sleep

And the uncertain fathers

Fall unwilling to their knees.

-

And I think

how

all this could possibly

,possibly

be.

-

I meditate upon a leaf

Who, at its Autumnal peak

Of swollen pride and majesty,

Descends its greatest fall and rebirth,

Melts in the Sun and becomes the Earth.

-

I think also of the seed

Its archaic death and metamorphoses 

Into something entirely other

Than itself: a sapling tree.

-

I see also every river and stream

Babbling tales of mountain scenes,

Wild savannas, frozen glacier dreams,

Forget itself at the delta instantly

To become a drop in the infinite Sea.

What do I know?

I am straining to remember.

Peering through the thick fog of my mind.

I know nothing.

(if that isn’t something.)

-

Am I a boy acting

     To be a man,

Or a man acting like

             a boy?

My hopeless mess of boyish hair

I run my fingers through 

                     and sigh.

And my head dully pounds

Like the hammer to the anvil,

Pounding every thought flat and dimensionless

Which is unfortunate enough 

To be caught 

Between the anvil and the hammer.

-

I wear a man’s shirt

With unbuttoned collar

And a man’s leather shoes.

My hands

       (I stare in disbelief)

Are a man’s hands.

Steady and useful,

Stained with oil and grease

That fills every crease

Of my finger prints.

-

But even these

        The works of my hands

I do not entirely trust.

Are they true? Am I really very strong?

Or do I only pretend,

Like a boy, to be strong?

(For an unhappy instant

       I wonder whether there is a difference.

Or if a man is only a boy

          Pretending to be a man.)

-

My courage is in quite a state.

My courage ever undulates.

It rises and peaks 

Sometimes when I drink.

-

I puff out my chest

And flex my biceps,

I sputter and yell

And raise all kinds of hell.

-

I stand up shakingly,

“Who wants to fight?

I’ll fight anyone over anything!”

And gloriously trip over my feet.

-

On other nights I silently retreat

To walking half deserted streets.

I start off, intentionally leaving

Behind anything of worldly value.

Hoping Nature will admit me

To her bosom if I come to her

With empty pockets and simple clothes

And bare feet tread on the heat soaked road.

-

My thoughts are like the Sea.

Every river and stream

In creation pours into her,

Yet she is never full.

-

From the first day 

The continents were pulled up from her depths,

The creator drew her boundary lines,

She has beaten against them day and night.

-

The eternal, raging, loving fight,

The conquest of the rhythmic pounding,

The conquest and the retreat sounding,

-

Always pushing the lines to the point of breaking

And pushing back again.

My thoughts are as futile

And as important.

-

Always I will be

Even like the Sea

                       The roaring pound

and the sighing retreat

                       The roaring pound 

and the sighing retreat

                      The roaring pound 

and the sighing retreat 

I

   am like 

           the

    man

I am the like 

             The man

who

I am like the man

you cannot quite remember.

I am like the dream

You wake with

a silent scream,

a muffled gasp,

a heavy sigh,

a stifled yawn,

and just like that

the memory is gone.

-

My cupped hands 

never could hold altogether

the Sea.

Why should you 

be any different from me?

-

I know.

I

  Know

I should try harder.

You are right that I should.

I haven’t tried yet

to the shedding of blood.

-

But what about 

The shedding of tears?

The shedding of years?

The shedding of fears?

-

If I haven’t yet

shaken all my cares

Can you not help me

then to bear?

-

If I am weak

It is not because

I don’t know my own strength.

I know the limits and the length

-

Of all my days.

That 

They are a breath,

A muffled gasp,

A heavy sigh,

A stifled yawn,

And just like that

my memory is gone.