The Spirit of the Sea
I raise my hand aloft and hail,
The spirit of the sea,
The scallop shell,
Soars up from hell,
In air to dwell,
From chasms fell—
A token broken free.
In my priestess garb I stand,
Adorned in dappled light,
The robes of black,
Are hanging slack,
As ages crack,
As aeons track,
Their cataclysmic plight.
I call in voices pure as day,
In harmonies of bliss,
The melodies,
To greet the seas,
The ocean breeze,
With Arctic freeze,
Lake Cocytus’ kiss!
I summon deities of old,
Atlantean and aged,
Pangean light,
Redeemed in white,
Such old delight,
Beguiles the sight,
My incantation staged.
I note the lurker in the deep,
Lovecraftian and dank,
And even he,
Presents to me,
From o’er the sea,
From Adam’s tree,
With Dagon on the bank.
I open up my lungs in full,
In lilting, sacred tone,
The notes go out,
My mind devout,
My strident shout,
With occult clout,
Vibrating to the bone.
The islands are my audience,
Like revellers that know,
My presence there,
In gushing air,
My steely stare,
With hidden care,
The distant clouds as snow.
The waters gift a salty smell,
A freshness giving cheer,
To this I cleave,
As currents weave,
My robes a sheave,
Against the eve,
In temperatures austere.
I sense the creatures in the deep,
The molluscs and the fish,
The starfish spread,
In coral red,
The whale’s head,
The sandy bed,
To hear my uttered wish.
The scallop stands triumphantly,
Emblazoned in the sky,
To this I bow,
To this I vow,
Enraptured now,
She does endow,
The gladness in my eye.
I will worship till I’m spent,
My reverence my pride,
The soaring tide,
Unlocked inside,
As plover glide,
None shall deride,
This ecstacy I ride…
Image credit: Spirit of the Sea – 1938 – Takahashi Wataru.
adamdaniel 