The Gulf
The Gulf lies flat
in the cloudy sky
against the sugar sand,
like a Grandma Moses seascape,
horizontal perspective
turned vertical in the fog.
At water's edge
a heron slowly struts
near an astonished
early beachcomber
while dolphins frolic
further up the horizon.
Underneath all,
the incessant souciance
of the sibilant sea
soothes us to attend
to this oceanic vastness
begging for meaning.
Here is spiritual retreat
stretched wide across years,
a skittering to the ebb
and flow of early trauma
like a sanderling searching
for food at surf's edge.
Sifting through deposits
of last night's high tide,
I let broken shells
pass through my fingers
pulling out the occasional find
of beauty's wholeness
to wonder
how this perfect shell
made it through
the same waves' battering
that shattered the others
into unnoticed rubble.
What-ifs eddy around
no solid answer.
The mistery perdures
as dolphins swim closer,
cackling invitation
to immerse in horizonal play.
Tess Lockhart is a retired theologian, Presbyterian pastor, medical massage therapist, and poet who admits, "It's been a weird journey." She loves playing with language to bear witness to ephemeral revelations happening in everyday life. Her poems appear in various issues of The Ohio Bards Poetry Anthology, The Soliloquist, Bards of the Storm, Sextet, TrashLight, and The Pocket Poet. She won a 2025 Bermuda Triangle Poetry Prize. You can read more of her work at www.Tess-Lockhart.com.
The Gulf lies flat
in the cloudy sky
against the sugar sand,
like a Grandma Moses seascape,
horizontal perspective
turned vertical in the fog.
At water's edge
a heron slowly struts
near an astonished
early beachcomber
while dolphins frolic
further up the horizon.
Underneath all,
the incessant souciance
of the sibilant sea
soothes us to attend
to this oceanic vastness
begging for meaning.
Here is spiritual retreat
stretched wide across years,
a skittering to the ebb
and flow of early trauma
like a sanderling searching
for food at surf's edge.
Sifting through deposits
of last night's high tide,
I let broken shells
pass through my fingers
pulling out the occasional find
of beauty's wholeness
to wonder
how this perfect shell
made it through
the same waves' battering
that shattered the others
into unnoticed rubble.
What-ifs eddy around
no solid answer.
The mistery perdures
as dolphins swim closer,
cackling invitation
to immerse in horizonal play.
Tess Lockhart is a retired theologian, Presbyterian pastor, medical massage therapist, and poet who admits, "It's been a weird journey." She loves playing with language to bear witness to ephemeral revelations happening in everyday life. Her poems appear in various issues of The Ohio Bards Poetry Anthology, The Soliloquist, Bards of the Storm, Sextet, TrashLight, and The Pocket Poet. She won a 2025 Bermuda Triangle Poetry Prize. You can read more of her work at www.Tess-Lockhart.com.
