Sitting By The Sea

Sitting By The Sea
By Andrew Moravick

The salt air caresses my nostrils
Into my ears flows the surf’s sound
While I see children bounding over swells
As if afraid of the water in which they stand.
They willingly immerse below
The water in the breaks between waves,
But after they surface up they go
Again to avoid the next oncoming crest.
The sun sinks into my skin as I
Watch from the shore, while the waters
Look ever more inviting to my
Dry, sand stung eyes, so I rise and go into the waves
Letting them break over me as I walk in,
Accepting them as they come to sooth my skin.

Slaves to Ourselves

Slaves To Ourselves
By Andrew Moravick

When most enslaved by feelings inside
Are we really closest to being free?
Pent up in prisons where we can’t see
Liberation laying where slavery lied.
Are our shackles merely made by the mind,
Are we our own masters of oppression,
Our lives a self defeating obsession?
Why when with ease our escape we could find
We stay enslaved, content to be confined
To a known bondage we willingly bind
As we break our backs while teeth gnash and grind
All out of fear of opening our mind?
Yet what wonders would flow when we let go
To live to learn freely all we could know.

Content Check

Hey readers, as you know, I've been posting a lot of my poetry, and a few short stories and such. I'd just like to get some more feedback on how those of you who have taken the time to read my work (which I can not thank you enough for doing) think of it all. A lot of writers write for personal expression and to share their own experiences in life, and thats great, poetry and writing can be an amazingly theriputic, and liberating activity. However, for me, it goes a bit beyond that level. I feel, from reading many of the romantic, transcendentalist, and over-all masters of poetry, that the craft is intended for more. Poets of the past have spoken not only for themselves but to, and for their generations, inspiring the people of their time, and those that followed. What I am trying to do with my poetry is ignite some sort of creative, or passionate fire in my readers so that perhaps we can escape the mundane trivialities that modern life is subject to. Throughout history, it has been poets that have awakened these passions in people, and changed the way we look at the world. Today, in a time when, pundits, news casters, and specified experts tell us how to look at the world, perhaps a poet's voice is needed again to paint a broader, more spectacular image. I can only hope that one day I may refine my craft to perhaps be that poet, but if maybe I could just get the ball rolling, and perhaps make it easier for a truly great poet to come along, even if I recieve no credit or acclaimation for it, I will be glad to have done my part.

Making Seen Beauty Heard

Making Seen Beauty Heard
By Andrew Moravick

She stands alone as frigid snowflakes fall
While her eyes burn through the winter air.
Her body language sings an alluring call
And thus entranced and entrapped I stare.
It’s but a mere picture, lifeless and still,
Seen on a screen by all who wish to see,
Yet its infinite, even time can’t kill
The beauty beheld by the world and me
When we see her mysterious strong form
Captivating and exciting our eyes,
Showing us our souls, making cold hearts warm
With the truest beauty which in her lies.
Therefore I write so might I with a word
Use a word’s might to make seen beauty heard.