Creative genius

The whole equilibrium
And soundness of mind
A total fluency
Being resigned
To what is true nature
Unembellished and real
The unlaboured willingness
Of waters that spill
And a sculpting genius
With Driftwood and glass
What has been fashioned
By wind storm now past
Jettisoned remnants
That took on a feel
Of their own expression
A tidal reveal

Of the brine and the sunlight
That softens the hard
Lignins within and the textures
That guard
Then worked by the sea
By the wind by the brine
With heat from the sun
And makes things divine
driftwood already
Fashioned each day
Predestined to be
Worked in such a way
That the eye can evaluate
And the heart can accept
In an adaptation
Just so windswept
Viable vital enlivened
survivable
There on the beach
True tactivity

Paul Baliker’s thoughts
As he shaves and he scrapes
Its the ocean he feels
Where his mind just escapes
To imaginary worlds
To the shimmering sea
To the rugged of rocks
Where his mind wants to be
Alone with his language
Curiosity
Watching observing
Wanting to see
Ahead of the game
Lost to the light
Discovering angles
That always feel right

Resourceful fantasies
Coming and going
Insight and empathy
Seemingly flowing
The bizarre and surreal
Concocted maybe
Make believe spangles.
Straight out of the sea
Instinct and impulse
Sufficiency
Ample supplies
Of alacrity
Ingenuity beckons
The artform compounds
The wisdom of practice
Of doing the rounds

Of the transformation
The wonder beyond
Aghast with the past
With what was the bond
The observance of wonder
And ecology
Of what has been happening
In front of thee
Driftwood great stacks of it
Fashioned and lent
time pure and simple
So wistfully spent
Magic a smattering
Uprightness too
Moments in time
Recreating anew.