Ocean voices, seashells sing in verse,
Collected on sandy isles, each with
Unique melodies, stories of the sea.
How I write poetry, listening to their
Salty calls, antique images in passing
Clouds, seascapes of pastel hues, earth,
Sea, and sky, words rise anew.
Fishing boats sailing on windy waves,
Canvas stretched across the sea, nets
Raised to take fish, often far from shore,
Waiting for returning fisher-folk, basket
Of fish for my work, nets repaired on
Sun-washed beaches and at low tide
On marble-slab boat docks.
Evenings I write by lantern light, pen on
Papyri, from my balcony setting sun slips
Beneath the sea as high-orbed planets
Shine on breezy nights. My collection of
Seashells and surf-polished stones, each
Relates days of exploring ancestors who
First visited rocky keys and cays.
If you desire sea stories, come walk on
These beaches, or we can visit your strands.
Thousand ages past, exploring Greek isles
Was legend, refuge on protected shores,
Too shallow except for boats of fishing-folk,
In faith casting nets for family, praying to
Blesséd gods for safe sea return.
In this poem, Thera relates poetry of ocean voices
and her love of Cyclades Ægean Islands.