The white of the sky blends into the thighs
of the bobbling, blubbery ocean.
It’s her time of the month,
and she is bloated with clouds-
rocks like areola lie sore among her shore.
This daily flow of rain, a burden to bear,
but she must keep pace and force out air.
Winds to push the sails of men casting nets,
mirrored in their labors are hopeful depths.
Winds the waterfowl need to rise
make their treks, and dive to take a prize,
a flash among the cramping waves.
Her voice soothing the crash of rocks,
the wagging of sharper tongues,
but in her expansion, the sky never complains,
knowing it’s just not polite to talk of such things.
NaPoWriMo Day 21. Today, I crafted a poem for an AllPoetry.com photo contest hosted by Amaranthine lover. Hope you enjoy.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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