Slow Beach sand waits its clearing, salt spray tangs the gulls' meal, harbor light dims the blackness, as ships blink caution lights appeal. Cove calm beckons voyage, and salt tears fleshes aid; of course that is not the measure, as there are no limits on this grief. What would cause some gladness, as a gift lightens a child’s eye; who played upon the beach believing, the calm was there for him to hide. Even the ocean has its own request, and this night no less for its command; as with a knowing specter of the sky, allows the moon to call the tide.
M. James Burke is a Boston native. From the age of ten, when a gift of rubber stamps of military items (tanks, soldiers etc.) opened him up to the world of the written word (which he sold for a nickel a story to neighbors) , the poem has been his centering activity. He has been published in The New Renaissance, Antaeus, and America and has written op-eds and fiction. He feels most engaged in the (Catholic) duty of truth telling via beauty.