A Truly (Real) Ode to an Ocean
Paramus, NJ
2022, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
i – dead seaweed
My Jersey Shore is unbreakable, stout, its fingers reach out, i hum to the soft crashes ashore, an
unraveling roll film of gleeful immaturity, my memory like a record.
the soles of my feet burn, the planks creak in rhythm, an invitation to dive into the deep blanket
of blue, so i make a running start, slippers snag on the wood, throw them away; don’t care
(the tag reads 100% plastic)
sink; the lapping grooves pick up, they glimmer back at me, the rushing feeling of its coarse
granules sweeps past my ankles, so does the trash of yesterday
(and a hundred years before) no matter; the water crowds around my body and it is bliss
and I know my home. it is in the place of skin burnt and dry grains of sand stuck in shoes
swollen fingers and inflatable floats bobbing without their owner
it was second nature; routine, you say, reaching for the distance. but now, my view was blocked
by dead seaweed.
ii – sure colors
evermore, the good-natured men
have stayed ignorant. eyes stuck vacant and gone
like whispers of warning that feel
empty and
i too, pretend.
i feel for the tickets and coins shoved
to the bottom of my pocket. They sting so
here is my credo;
out of sight; out of mind
we’re all standing in a great beauty
of big blue
not just your primaries, saturated ugly modern industrialized hues
natural as is orange, and green, and purple, and
i collapse and Finally it floods into my brain
iii – fantastical
Is this just a dream?
Far I am from the bay
But I can hear the splattered droplets of the sea
I can make an angel
Out of the marks of the sand
The sluggish waves
crash down
It dissolves into nothingness
I know! (my grin widens into mania) the ocean reached out and venture far, far out just to meet
me.
Reflection
Living close to the shore means I'm never far from the beach or the ocean. But when I want to communicate this connection to other people, I am not simply referring to the sand or the water. I mean that I also share a love for the people and the places near the beach who rely on its very existence for work and income. I'm afraid and hurt that others can't sympathize with the coastal communities that have their own distinct culture. Coasts are being contaminated with lost fishing and swimming gear. We are dumping our trash into our once pristine waters. And above all, we are cultivating the roots of our very doom by turning the ocean into a weapon that can flood all of our lands. Does anyone I know truly understand and fear the dangers that the water may entail? And does anyone want to help us restore what we have wronged? I wanted to express all of this in my poem.