Here is the second poem from Ocean Saga

 On the Surface

Wave chases wave onto the shoreline,
spreading fingers laced with foam.
A child watches the sticky globules
flutter in the breeze, then
blows her own bubble streams
from a can. Hear them pop.
Her father is nearby but alone,
ignoring his wife and
drenched to the bone.
He senses danger. 

“Crab sandwich? Sausage roll? Shame the light’s so dull.” 

Out further in the bay
white horses ride the waves,
manes tousled, legs bucking
against the racing tide.
On shore, the man paces the beach
watching his elder daughter race the equine team.
He thinks she looks vulnerable
but youth makes her confident,
mounting the unbridled surf
astride a slim white board.  

“This Chardonnay is delicious. Pity the weather’s so capricious”

 The surfer paddles steadily
towards the marker, a buoy
tethered in the open bay.
Waves roll easily here,
free of ocean constraint
or messy land mass breeze,
but strange how appearances can deceive.
A roaring tidal stream rips the surfboard from the girl’s grip.
She is gone. Away from family, far from home. 

“Salad looks a bit droopy. Beach is so quiet it’s spooky.”

 Out in ever deeper waters
the accidental swimmer
finds that calm is ominous.
The smooth swell reveals a darkness
that daylight cannot penetrate.
On land, her elderly grandparents
huddle in their beach hut,
holding binoculars aloft. 

“Wind’s increasing, rain cloud releasing. Turn your collar up.”  

“Our grand-daughter is missing.”

 Do not trust the water,
it is not your friend.
You may love it,
but it will betray you in the end.
Treat it with respect.
Hide your fear.
Even within your depth,
danger is always near.

 The girl took a deep breath
before she dived.
Neptune took her hand
while she died.

In the early hours, when the tide was slack
and only dreams lit the waterside,
our fishermen pulled hard on their haul.
Simon said, “Pass me that knife.
Quick! Over here.
The windlass has jammed.”
George shouted, “You've got too many bloody fish.
I warned you the catch could overload us.
Your dad mended the net too well.” 

Two torches draw narrow beams but little comfort
against the starless night. A lantern flickered.
Anything could be out there, beyond the bows
of two small boats, casting doubt upon reason.
The earth could be flat, or a monster lurking.
Seamen practice superstition religiously
to keep such horrors at bay.

That was how it was when the boats were struck.

George yelled. “Hell. What the fuck was that?”
Simon’s eyes cast around. “I don’t know,
but my boat’s taking in water.”
Salty froth surged up between his feet
and his open mouth spat saliva.
“The knife, George, give me the knife!
I must the drop the net - it won't wrench free.”
“I cannot,” he screamed, “see what has come between us.’ 

The hand could have held Excalibur,
the way it rose between the two vessels,
but its clenched fist carried nothing but dread. 

George clawed at the bow of Simon’s boat,
the thrashing net, his screaming friend,
until finally Neptune and the gurgling water
dragged them down.

For fear of ridicule,
the fishermen have never told the tale
of Simon, nor the missing girl,
captive in that underwater Kingdom.

So I will.