She never left right away,
sashaying slowly she drifted,
never retracing her cobalt steps,
as she did on full moon nights,
silvering blue seas and white sands.
Like an errant girl she skipped away,
her foamy curls receding,
her song becoming distant,
the conch had learnt it,
every nuance of her ebb and tide,
the swishing waves of her wet robes,
and her thundering joyous fury rushing
to embrace the shore she left behind
during her low times.
The conch watched as times changed,
the tectonic shifts that laid waste,
and fairweathered friends who left,
all except those who were rooted,
and united with the sand,
in parched eagerness, dryly waited
her return, hoping for an axial shift,
a monumental continental drift,
that would bring her back.
And on cool windy nights,
the conch sings,
the songs of the sea,
of the gentle ocean’s allure,
hoping she hears and returns,
from her distant wanderings,
crossing the gulf of time,
the vast plains of barrenness,
and embrace the shores
she once called home,
the boy holds the conch to the ear,
and hears the Ancient Ocean’s song.
Charlie Bottle's passion is poetry. He has lived on three continents, speaks five languages and loves different cultures, people, music and food. He believes that "Poetry uses the economy of words to express the essence of our humanity." It is this magical use of brevity to express the profound that drew him to poetry. While his professional and personal life has pulled him in different directions, He continues in his discipleship of the craft and writes whenever the muse moves him. While English is his second language it is the language in which he lives, breathes, thinks and writes poetry.