Mast-high pilons rooted knee-deep
and slapped by bickering waves
abrupt and cold,
salt-crusted sea cow tongues
washing creosote, lapping the black
cringing in retreat
waiting then swelling again
their ancient hunched shoulders
pummeling the shore
in a rough stadium shove
dripping their liquid rage
of full-fetched ocean and foam
stretched and rolled beyond limits
potential velocity breached and broken
while terns and kittiwakes play on invisible currents
high wire acts riding on daredevil wings
flickering silhouettes from kohl to silver
shimmering white then back to black again
frontside to backside
caught in sunlighted beams
fishnet patterns on blustering cyan blue skies
flocking smoke signals upon the milky haze
dipping, rising, daring swoops and arcs
Two terns tease a solitary grey-winged king of the pilon
a chanting glaucous gull, smooth and clean
om mani padme hum, cries the beggar bird
standing aloof, detached and rooted in observation
Across from the harbor a broad windowed café
flowering weeds and a climbing rose dance
red against white behind weathered grey benches
There, gathering the morning sun,
a writer sits, intense and frowning
lost in the force and dimension of imagine
and beyond her runs a mocking ghost fence
traversing the field beside the coast road
hung on it’s gate with rust-bleeding screws
a wooden board, time-peeled paint,
chipped and blistered
tells its own half-dead but still kicking story in black on white:
Private, it says.
No Trespassing
gulls painting may be purchased from: http://www.carolthompson.com/seabirds/harbor-gulls/index.htm
Entered in: http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/
http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2012/04/thursday-poets-rally-week-65-april-5.html
