"RIFFING "MY HOME" BY BESSIE HEAD" WRITTEN AND READ BY ANDREW WHYTE AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 10 EPISODE 05 OCEAN

RIFFING " MY HOME" BY BESSIE HEAD:

My home is the ocean

It is a place where the wind does not blow

My heart rests there

It is a strange place

A funny place

All black, blue, dark, quiet

A place where the wind only blows on top.

Come and see

My oceanic home is a place where orders are not given

It's a moment of surprise

Two dark eyes smile wide open

It is something gentle that you don't know

It caresses your cheeks.

The ocean is a park in winter

A thin old man cramped on a park bench

A cold blue sky

It's a lonely place; a lonely space

A place where the wind does not blow.

The ocean is my home

It's somewhere far in the distance

It is a high wire tension,

dissolving the warm tenderness of love 

The ocean:

It is a cage

It is timid as the eyes of a trapped beast

It is priceless; defenceless

Valuable; valueless

Most welcoming; forbidding

When in there; in the ocean, tread softly- the walls breathe peace-

A deep, dark, black peace

In a place where the wind ruffles the surface

It is my house

I like it!

                          Part 2

Ocean the movie series

making money in waves

Ocean the singer creating waves and ripples of soft sibilance

Ocean the body of water incorporating it all; bursting boundaries and borders when fancy calls or dictates.

Plumbing the depths even on coastlines where there is no plumbing, only holes in the ground, only bore holes apart from those that make up the termite kingdom.

 Reflecting a reality where even after 50 plus years the beautiful ones are not yet born and the gods on the anthills are still to blame. 

The wealth of the nations is still carted and plumbed In primary fashion to the recycling reagents of the world and sent back to the consumers whose creative aspiration is to make pencils or maybe only the lead

The wood is carted away via the various oceans. 

Oceans as cinema, as mellifluous warblers, as transportation, as metaphor, as a Jungian picture of the inner psyche- Oceans work!

Plumbing and planing the depths of the ocean within called consciousness.

Super, un, sub, race, over

All loaded with stuff for consideration and contemplation like the lake called the sea, called the ocean, called dead- the richest, densest, most concentrated with value- place on the planet

Oceans 5 or 7 depending on who is counting!

Andrew Whyte