I haven’t been writing much poetry recently, but yesterday evening I wrote this:




Wheeling ’round the sagebrush;

Soaring o’er my head;

Singing in their voices harsh

Words I’ve never read.


Dipping in the waves of salt;

Playing on the crags.

White as foam in ocean’s tumult;

Tipped pinions fly like flags.


Their song is indescribable;

Their cries are somehow sweet:

Give me longing unaccountable

For sand and sky and sea—

Oh, that I were free!

A seagull I would be.


I’ve always loved seagulls.  Some people say they’re disgusting, and their voices are ugly, but they remind me of the saltwater and sand and cloudy days.  Free, they fly, far above the pounding waves, calling out in their cracked, salty voices to the open ocean.  How many can say they have not wished to fly! and with the rush of wind and salt spray on one’s wings.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s