ATLANTA REVIEW

International Poetry Competition

Grand Prize Winner: 2006

Phrases for Public Speakers at Sea

by M. B. Powell

 

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Home Pond

 

 

The student should read aloud daily several pages of these phrases, think just what each
one means, and whenever possible fill out the phrase in his own words. A month’s earnest practise of this kind will yield astonishing results.   
                                                                  —
Grenville Kleiser, Phrases for Public Speakers (1910)

 

We ought, first of all, to note

                           her oceanic eyes flecked with sea wrack.

And we should pause to consider

                           the wavy wilderness of her damp hair.

 

I will not dwell on

                            her cheeks ruddy under my thumbstrokes.

I will not attempt to explain

                           the shapely abalone shells of her ears.

 

I wish to call your attention to

                            the cunning animal of her mouth, muscular.

I wish to say something about

                            the mollusky dark language of her kisses.

 

I am obliged to mention

                            her sudden breasts, breaching, rhythmic.

And I am perfectly astounded at

                            her finger charting my lips round her nipple.

 

Here, in this connection, let us notice

                            her nipple against the roof of my mouth.

Here, in passing, let us observe

                            her palms casting me down the dark seaway.

 

And here, I have to speak again of

                            sea wrack, oceanic pools, salt waves.

And here, I wish I could stop

                            and surface, save myself, return to tell.

 

But now it begins to be apparent

                            that I am far weaker than I had thought.

And now we are naturally brought on to

                            the sea change that deception brings.

 

You may point, if you will, to

                            scripture, proverbs, and therapeutic talk.

You may also search through history

                            and learn that my deafness is archetypal.

 

It is, to be sure, a melancholy fact that

                            love’s clouds will ever hang on us, drown us.

It is, to be sure, a notorious fact that

                            love’s tempest has driven me from my home.

 

What remains to be shown is

                            whether I can put an end to this.

What remains to be considered is

                            whether anyone should.

 

For when we contemplate

                            the doldrums of life, we cannot rest.

And, likewise, when we reflect upon

                            the pitiful port, we must rush into peril.

 

Let no one suppose

                            I can tread safely the sea green of her eyes.

Let no one suggest there is any among us

                            who could. I sink. I lose everything.

 

Permit me to illustrate the point:

                            I am overboard, hands manacled in her hair.

Permit me to remind you that

                            you have not met her, felt her undertow.

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