NEW SURROUNDINGS
detached
beginnings
gradually
dissolving
outlines
inexpressive
variations
becalmed
anodyne
gestures
irreconcilable
chaotic
pliable
malleable
abstraction
close-up
care-free
incidental
symbols
of
confidence
breathing
freedom
in
a
relaxed
unrestrained
layered
sequential
atmosphere
a vigorous
vital
amorphous
delicate
conceptual
unchanging
shape
of
single-minded
energy
The wind leans in sideways to drink every word,
Just as sailors must tack sideways to go upwind.
It's only with angles we know the wind's wrangles.
Its riddles, scattered among willy-nilly answers,
Whispered as secrets, spilling to shake the leaves.
When gales blow hard; many tumble quaking in fear,
Others stand up to harness its power and steer,
Watching their vanes to predict omens ahead,
Hoping for kind winds to come their way soon,
In the wily wandering ways of the gusts and whims.
The wind is an oracle, chanting psalms on wing.
It carries the chorus of birds calling at dawn.
The rumble of thunder in an approaching storm.
The calls from a distance; bells whoops and cooee's
But it's no secret its gathers can ever stay still—
For all sounds are bent to the command of its will.
For sound needs winds in the air to transmit downhill.
Only falling silent; when wind's becalmed and still.
For with no wind, all is just silence, dressed to kill.
Always changing, moving, rising and falling.
I love to stand by a sandy strand
and yell at the ever-rolling ocean.
I go down
to the restless seas and tidal lakes,
I go down as an exiled Neptune goes down
to shake my trident in a brazen joy and defiance,
to be part of that upheaval of the sea
but not in it.
I love the tides how they
move us in and out of one space
to another.
I am brave no more,
I am water in the mouth of a fleeing fish,
it is my unspoken secret.
The ocean is too dangerous for a man of my stout age.
Neptune now reigns within straw huts
or beach front mansions.
Too much salt
and I gag.
Yet I love to go (at a distance),
to meet the seas stormy depths,
to wave my arms, to lift my trident high,
to spin it like a baton
otherwise, what is it good for?
The very worst day for me
is a day becalmed, a day without ebb and flow.
No need to pity old Neptune,
I never did like shellfish.
Our love began so sweet and expectant.
Full of hope, becalmed in a sea of roses.
The swell rose and fell gently enticing,
a lover's waltz, a warm embrace.
But the storm clouds gathered,
the winds rose, the sea swirled,
the stems of roses twisted
to reveal the thorns hidden
beneath the sea.
The waves dashed menacingly against the
tiny boat in which we huddled.
The stems of roses began to fly
over the gunnels, with the petals,
caressing our cheeks with soft wet flowers.
But the sharp edged leaves and thorns
on the stems began to scratch and bite
against our faces and bare limbs.
We were tossed about
in a rocking churning sea of roses
begging each others pardon.
Born beautiful, bacon breath,
Beau, besides being boisterous,
basketcase boggles,
batty behavior,
bounds beyond boundaries,
brazen barking bravado,
bane of UPS drivers bringing boxes,
bowling bewildered brother canine bedfellows,
befriending beagles,
basking beside bashful basset hounds,
belabors begging beef at table,
bedazzled by butterflies,
bobblehead bouncy Beau,
basically befuddled,
becalmed by bedtime biscuit,
beloved baffling beastie!
Chronic
Fool, that I was, I thought to be more
Only to be gutted, and left on the shore.
To Doctor’s appointments, I dutifully arrived
To be sent away, told lie after lie.
You look so good, you must feel fine?
The only explanation, “it’s all in your mind”.
The package so shinny, the skin, so bright,
The body inside, it’s tainted with blight.
So many years, I lobbied and I strived,
Wanting more, than just to survive.
Nothing’s possible, all dreams, gone
Once, I danced, now, pain’s pawn.
The day’s are listless, seas, becalmed,
Waiting for light, without hope of dawn.
How deep do we travel
inside the divide
When crossing a line
we may not survive
How much of existence
lies waiting beyond
Those things without answers
— in moments becalmed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2024)
A ship in a bottle
…..Becalmed
…..Left the cap off
….The crew went AWOL
I come here often, stop,
and from the river bank, watch
the ribs of an old wreck break through
the surface on an ebbing tide.
After all this time it still seems
to crave for breath, to air
its last remains.
Whatever past it has
no longer resides in living memory
but in a paragraph inked
in a shipping registry sunk
deep in the basement
of the Maritime Museum,
or is somewhere forever becalmed
in a photograph,
time frozen on a sepia sea.
But this morning I took it in,
gave my mind
to its hollowed out hull
and let imagination
lift it from the mud and make
it whole. I sailed it
out of the suck of time
and set it upon an open sea
and as its sails billowed
across my mind, I got the sense
that throughout all the wear
of passing time,
it had been waiting for me.
If we stayed young
and didn’t age
would marriage last
to turn the page
Would love endure
and pledges stay
with time becalmed
— and youth sustained
(Dreamsleep: May, 2024)
Old cotton knee-Lenths
smell; an old book of poetry smell,
Unseen socks
between the matrass and the ground floor
of nowhere,
where discarded apparel through the ages,
molders unread.
Daily we wash the stains off
our words,
once in a while
we recover them from
a closeted library of mismatched leftovers,
mental Himelick Maneuvers,
unclog threads of meaning.
Recuse the becalmed.
where they wallow untouched
by time
and just as funky as summer armpits,
yet
all that bookish residue
is retrievable,
It can be made to walk upright,
as if it still had legs.
I have soared above the Redwoods in their youth
Touched tips of frosted frigid icy peaks
Lifted weary aching migratory wings
Swept through the oily tint of present day
Enraged the sea, drove ships upon the rocks
Becalmed the mariners upon dead waves
Caressed the vibrant hope of snowbound buds
Blew north an icy chill that still resides
Crept, in fog-like cape, through darkened streets
Swallowing the darkness of the night
Lifted into sunshine the billowing of clouds
Mussed the unkempt locks of playful youth
I have cooled the tears of red-hot passions
And rocked the empty cradles of your dreams
negligeed shape -
innocence becalmed in deep sleep
give a little,
squeeze a little drop,
give up on,
the illusion of seclusion
belay to open up,
to be becalmed
to be becoming.
"On the rocks?", the bartender called,
As I asked for a double Scotch,
To revive my spirits keel-hauled.
By my sleepy shift on night-watch.
On the rocks the liquid gold poured
Making the cold hard ice cubes clink.
Drowner of sorrows, now on board,
Dismay was dragged back from the brink.
On the rocks the ship did flounder
With no stormy tempest in sight,
With watch asleep, the rocks found her,
Not at night, but in broad daylight.
On the rocks now, the storms will rage,
Mercilessly blasting their might,
Building seas, to roaring rampage,
Defying quaffs to set things right.
On the rocks, becalmed distraction
Leaves sails flapping, wanting a breeze
Postponing the need for action,
To get relief and be at ease.
On the rocks, cold as cubes of ice,
Enticing Scotch will not suffice.
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