“So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.
There go the ships: there is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein.
These wait all upon thee; that thou mayest give them their meat in due season.
That thou givest them they gather: thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.”
~Psalm 104 vs. 25 – 28 KJV

Beach Picnic I

I thought it was a Mylar kite left fluttering on the shore.
I paddled close to clear the beach of trash, and nothing more.
Instead I found a quivering oarfish, serpent of the sea,
I thought it dead, but when I crouched it fixed its gaze on me.

The lapping water flared the red appendages, so strange!
A ravening hoard of sea lice roved its body like the mange.
A gentle wave convulsed the body trying still to swim.
I wondered should I help it go, the chance for life so slim?

A gull stood on the sand nearby, and keening was its cry.
I knew the one would live to eat the one I left to die.
But oh! The flaming fins and streamers, rainbow-colored flanks!
Was My name God to change its fate? I left it on the bank.

Beach Picnic II

On the beaches we walk, the most interesting finds
are the porcupine pufferfish blown from the brine.
Hollow balloons, bulging eyes, furrowed brow,
they seem to be questioning fate, they ask “how
Do we end up in drifts, in the kelp and the foam,
when it’s out in the cool of the sea that we roam?

The answer is clear and it’s plain as can be:
When they blow up with air they are loosed on the sea
And they blow with the wind ’till they meet the grim shore,
Where the tide lets them drop; they won’t swim anymore.

But

Sometimes we find them away from the beach,
where the pulse of the tide in its dreams does not reach.
Nearby is a fire pit, some jagged old bones,
a few blackened sticks in a dark ring of stones.
There scattered about are the prickly remains
of the pufferfish, eaten con salsa, or plain.

Crabbing

Lunging, leaping, skittering upon the salty rocks.
Sneaking, scraping, tiptoeing, the stalker and the stalked.

Legs that wobble, claws that scrabble,
Running singly, joined by rabble.
Brinkly tottering,
Drinkly floundering,
Nibbling kibble of dead things and pondering
Where is the next meal, and where shall I stab?
Will a crab eat a man like a man eats a crab?

Shouting, crying, answering above the tidal roar.
Bowing, dipping, waving arms that cannot be ignored.

Grab the stick to poke and pry,
Jab it quick to make it die.
Briefly gasping,
Pincers grasping,
Tossing the guts on the rocks and de-shelling
The bait for a hook on a line and a bite!
This crab catches fish for the people tonight.

Leviathan Speaks

For I am bigger than Big,
And you are tiny.

But I taste your oily breath
And your metal gears and sonic pulses
screech across the leagues,
disturb my sleep
my navigation
my children.
If I forgive you, now,

For I am very old,
And you are young . . .

I was alive
When your great grandfathers
chased me across the leagues,
flaying my mates
my companions
my children.
If I forgive you, now,

For the world is very old,
And we are all but young . . .

Here is the truth.
You must finally speak it:
our lives, though leagues apart
are precious, equal
our futures, equal
our children.
If I forgive you, know

That I could eat you,
But refrain . . . for now,

Will you remember?

Sperm whale! This is only about 1/3 of its total length. The head stretches out in front of the blowhole, which you can just barely see. The visible part was about 20 feet long, we estimate.

Turtle Soup

So what! If God gave humans rule o’er land and sea,
Does that include the right to hunt
Until whole species die and simply cease to be?
Those creatures bore the awful brunt
Of human hunger, greed without restraint or end,
The grasping pleasure-seekers’ wont
To fill their plates and eat, and eat, and eat again.

Say what? I come from generations poor as dirt,
And eat I must. The sea gives up
Its bounty, straight from God who soothes my family’s hurt.
I fish; I crab; I kill; I sup.
To live and feed my children is my only quirt.
You say I share the sorrowful cup
Of these extinctions? Perhaps I do, but not with mirth.

Now what? Oh God, innumerable we creep on earth.
We ply the waters green, and seek
Our meat in season, driven by both death and birth.
Fill us with good; the future’s bleak
If we who have enough do not reduce our girth.
Who does more harm, the strong or weak?
Who stands to lose the most, and what is each life worth?

“These wait all upon thee; that thou mayest give them their meat in due season.
That thou givest them they gather: thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.”
~Psalm 104 vs. 27 – 28 KJV

(all poetry, except the Psalm, copyright Carla Bamer 2014)