At the start of this week, I composed a series of three Poems from out of One scenery, one place that never ceases to provide me peace of mind. But from out of this place not one poem but three, each poem bringing a different style. The first Poem of this series, was published on this blog at the start of the week.
At the Edge of Earth and Ocean, was composed in my usual style of AaBb rhyming with as much Alliteration, Assonance and poetic dressing that I could manage inside the poem. That was the first of three poems on this series. The poem today is the second of this series and is in Free Verse Style.. No rhyming, and just a sprinking of creativity. The third Poem of the series follows.
This Series as I call “The Cliff Walk Collection” takes 1 Scene with 3 Poetic Styles, 1 in a Structured Ordered style + 1 in Free Verse style and 1 in a Mixture of the previous two styles. I believe both works and on Friday Morning I Post all 3 poems together as they should have been. Each Poem deserves to be read together and regardless of style, each poem goes together.

The Southern Pulse
I walk the line where the land ends and you begin.
No cross-breeze here, no wandering air,
but a southerly roar, straight from the deep,
a salt-heavy ghost that has travelled a thousand miles,
just to find me standing here, breathless.
It is the directness of you,
no games, no shelter, just the beautiful,
burning force of your presence striking my chest.
And beneath my boots, the percussion of the tide.
A rhythmic thundering against the shelf,
where the green-black water shatters into white fire,
against the ancient, unyielding stone.
You are the wave that does not ask permission,
The pulse that echoes in the hollows of my heart,
breaking the silence until I am nothing but
the sound of the sea and the heat of the gale.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
The Author:
Thank you for joining me on this journey of writing and discovery. Poetry, for me, is a continuous learning process. A way of finding my own voice and writing style and exploring the beauty of words.
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With Gratitude,
Pat Fitzgerald
Beautiful.
This is one of those goldpieces that I would give my wife and enjoy the breakfast in bed it would earn me surely:) Why only did I learn to write them before wife-arrive or at least breakfasting became a reality for me?
The Sea
Thank you. I thought of the “stormy” sea you mentioned beneath the image (beautiful) before these thoughts.
there are waves we can see
some felt as they grow
some winds push as they call
but still is the grave
the gravest one is fall
air too heavy to even hold
by skies cut from and gone
earthly pressure before waters
unmeasured
within us it is
we thinned treasure
last breath weaves wrath as
a flow
we know
never no shore
finds calm anymore
at core fills death
to drown means breath
each one storms once more
all rise and all way rivers water
they say
leads loved streams into one
to source from once sought
Set sole surrounding soul
Storm
A last thought had
Love means then
Her
Mare I mourn
The stormiest storm
She
I call
I am
Calm.
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Thank you, I feel blessed and your verse is beautiful.
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