humidity black
gold sun sifted by green leaves
baptizes blue bird
(“Mind’s Eye Merit Badge”, 2020, original oil)
I like to bathe more than shower.
Sure, I have to stew in a mix of old cells
And soapy scum,
But I find it more relaxing
And somehow less wet than showering.
I also get to see all the debris that washes
Off of me
And this is almost as satisfying to see
As it is to feel.
Maybe that’s part of what others prefer
About showers, the fact they don’t have to see
All the debris.
It’s a metaphor for Life you could say
We gather and shed
And then wash it all away.
The best part really is that in the end it’s just
Water down the drain.
(6/29/26)
Slathered in sweat
Warmed by the light
Joyful smell of wet
Bathed in simmering warmth
Bringing the gleam
Of skin shinning
Moon bathing at midnight
Bathing beauty with her ducky umbrella
Cruised the lake, expecting to meet a fella
This did not happen, but she had a fine time
For she was eating cookies and drinking wine
No one noticed her, because of her age
Women become invisible after twenty said a sage
I think it’s horrible because twenty is so young
But seriously, after twenty, women have less fun
Songs from my mother’s room at dawn,
Lawns of mercy with twilight gone,
She seeks for goodwill in the light,
Glee is not a stranger at night,
At her fingertips is wisdom,
That which is buoyed by the kingdom,
Moderation is her golden rule,
Libation, she calls a whirlpool.
February 13, 2025.
standing in high tide
letting water come to me
taking my sorrows
On beaches she likes to undress
(although she's a bit of a mess:
her boobs are so low
and swing to and fro -
and as for the rest you can guess...)
Natural sun glow, glistens the skin giving it new life
On the subject of bathing
There are two schools of thought:
In a shower or tub,
Which you do,
Which you ought?
Of course, some people say
Either way is okay,
While others are a tad more particular.
They'd rather scrub in a tub
And recline on their spine
Than to sluice standing up,
Perpendicular.
Stretch out your arms
Lie on the mossy forest floor
Feel the cooling fronds
On your back
Be embraced.
Join the family of trees
As they chemically chatter
Beneath you. Silently.
Interlope and envelope
An exciting vibrancy
Of Autumnal shades
Before Wintery sleep pervades
Douse your soul
In the pine scented oil
Of calm, ancient, understanding
Bathe in the beauty
Of stillness..
(Ssshhh)
“All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini.”—Jack Freestone
All a “man” really wants is a “girl”
who looks good in a bikini?
All a woman wants is someone
who really doesn’t care, or is it
just to feel warm sea-side air
caress her chest instead of nylon
and play once again, summer child,
outside a body of which she’s too aware,
alive in movements unbound by eyes
and unweighted by prudish gravity,
to wade into the froth of waves breaking wild
around her, an improvised dance that swirls
in cadence to life’s rhythms, wise
to no man’s guile, unresponsive to his gambit.
Behold the bather astride the river,
resplendent in rainbow-dappled nudity
his sense of light and air and wetness
ebbs and flows like his emotions,
colors shift and swirl in response
to the universe of his creativity.
I am bathing my dolly; her name is Jean.
With soap in her eyes, she is not so keen.
I am doing my best, not trying to be mean.
But I do want this dolly to be really clean.
I am kind of a Dolly-Washing-Supreme Queen.
I am not trying to brag, or even be seen.
But I am better at this than my cousin Dean.
Who is the one who made my dolly unclean.
Jean, Jean, Jean, you will soon be so clean.
I will dress you in your pajamas of pink yellow and green.
You will be so proud that I will let you show off and preen.
You are my favorite dolly, my darling, my Jean.
bathing in the dark
sploshing water over toes
eager eyes watching
the moons’ concentric circles
the harbor’s invitation
8/27/2021
And oftentimes, as in a symphony,
a sound distinct emerges from the waves,
within this cove, this rocky gallery,
strange echoings through a honeycomb of caves.
At times quite muffled, undefined, and then,
with clarity we hear, but only when
the boisterous wind allows a brief respite,
resounding peals of laughter and delight.
The rock pools chiselled out for childhood pleasure,
still resonate, as, in the house above,
a mother views her bathing brood at leisure,
contented in a place so much beloved.
Such gleeful sounds are music to her ears,
These shrieks and whoops will echo down the years.
This sandy cove through time will surely sing
and Howick Pools fond memories will bring.
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