"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Basking in the tainted gloss of west coast rays, these once frigid waters overflow with sustenance, enticing anchovies to cavort along the coastlines; their corporeal writhing a carnal call to hungry, ancient giants. Upstream, waves of heat weave blobs of warmth into toxic bouquets, their ghastly aromas leeching beneath …
You slide fluently through cool, coastal waters, A balletic grace with unparalleled force That silently slips between the spheres As a distant rumble announces time. Reaching into your deepest recesses You absentmindedly cast-off towards the north, Upwelling shadows beckoning you to feed. The hairy fringes of your mouth begin to …
At the bottom of the ocean, In a mariner’s trench so deep That Hillary could have climbed it, We pray that we will find silence. So carefully we tap the phones, A titanium-encased bug That we place in the ocean’s heart So that we can find its stillness. …
With drips and bursts and streams from their blowholes Beluga whales blow bubbles in the sea; The air encases liquid as it roles Languidly from their choice of cavity, And even though the whales seem quite carefree The different bubble types reflect their mood, With drips and mouth rings playful …