Oracabessa Bay
A poem inviting reflection and appreciation for the delicate balance of life at the water's edge.
This poem is part of the NaPoWriMo 2025 challenge to write a poem a day in April. This is the prompt for April 14.
…today’s (optional) prompt is inspired by a poem that’s an old favorite of mine, by Kay Ryan.
[…]
Ryan’s poem invites us to imagine the “music” of a place without people in it. So today, try writing a poem that describes a place, particularly in terms of the animals, plants or other natural phenomena there. Sink into the sound of your location, and use a conversational tone. Incorporate slant rhymes (near or off-rhymes, like “angle” and “flamenco”) into your poem. And for an extra challenge – don’t reference birds or birdsong!
I decided to write about Oracabessa Bay, St. Mary, Jamaica. It is where Ian Fleming built a house he named Goldeneye and where he wrote all the 007 Bond stories. Oracabessa and other places like it in Jamaica are now resorts catering to the tourist trade, but the beauty remains.
I am standing at the edge of the bay, where the ocean greets the shore with a soft, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat, each wave curling in, then pulling back, murmuring secrets to the sand. I can almost hear it say: Stay a while, as it rolls over tiny shells, cradling them in its embrace. A playful breeze, tugs at palm fronds, evoking a gentle rustle like laughter, as if the trees are sharing a joke with the sky. And then, there’s that sharp click— a crab scuttling across the rocks, its claws tapping out a quick tempo, joining the symphony of the shore. I lean closer, and catch the sound of fish breaking the surface, tiny splashes like popcorn popping, quick and surprising, each one a burst of life amid the calm of the bay. It reminds me that beneath this tranquil surface, there’s a world full of movement, a dance of fins and tails. At times, I hear the distant crash of larger waves, their thunderous applause echoing against cliffs, a dramatic contrast to the gentle sighs of the shallows. It feels alive, a conversation between land and sea. As the sun dips low, the air settles into a hush, the waves still murmur, but now it’s softer, like a lullaby coaxing the day to sleep. And in that stillness, I hear the faintest hum of night creatures stirring; a world transitioning into darkness, where the sounds of the bay hold me close, invite me to listen, to breathe, be part of this beautiful rhythm, where every sound tells a story of life at the water’s edge.
Thanks very much for reading, subscribing, and sharing the stories, poetry, and essays in this space. If you like a story, poem, or essay, please click on the heart. Also if you are so moved, please leave a comment.
