The Ocean
The Earth yields to your domineering mass,
yet you torment our humble, frail land.
Men, die by waves or peacefully, they pass,
whether rage or calm steers your fitful hand.
Kings peer in envy while the sun styles
jewels, glistening on your still, translucent crest,
and self-pitying sky emits its jealous bile,
aware its blue falls short of your rich zest.
Your bright expanse bedecks the gloom of space,
flirts with flaxen sand and sweeps our shores,
displays gems, sought, below your turquoise face,
and hides those arcane beasts, proclaimed by lore.
Your treasures dull the lustre of bright gold,
how more the worth of much you still withhold.
Trees
The refuge sought from sun’s midday caprice.
Partaker with the breeze in nature’s waltz.
Whom gardens cherish as their centrepiece.
Where feathered dwellers rest from wind’s assault.
Cradle of the Earth’s most lung sought air;
where Sherwood’s legend wooed his Marion.
What majesty does summer bid you wear!
The herd’s most merciful and soothing fan.
Where tiny hands build palaces of dreams,
beneath umbrellas of sun-altered hue.
As forests, with your peers, you dwell in reams,
with every wild creature there in view.
Pray, sooner may all air and life be gone,
than you no more to sing your gust-urged songs.
Gary Borck is from the UK and is a retired teacher living in China. He loves reading and writing poetry and rambling in natural surroundings. He has had poems published in Grand Little Things, The Society of Classical Poets, Sparks of Calliope, Westward Quarterly and Littoral magazine and has had one poem-Flowers- nominated for the 2024 Pushcart Prize.
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