"*Oui, the winner, American Beauty,"
yet hail these 'Windflowers' Anemones,
flourished yon 'Down Under', 'Aussiszlanders,
indeed a showstopper for bystanders
of all but Europe, Turks, then South due East.
Breed buttercup, yet, some toxic; no feast,
bold capped to stop at bowls use; bowels feared,
not ground hugger, but mid-road, four feet cleared.
Eye catchers, nose losers; scent attracts foes,
begs Ruth from deer, rabbits ... cuts Atropos,
relevant, floral events, vast numbers,
eyes lacking, vainglory lapping ... wonders.
Attract bees, butterflies, and egotism,
flowers have that novel effect on schism.
Somewhere partially due east
Of Hunching Cliff
On the Jurassic coast
Where the Old Lighthouse
Used to stand it's ground
Battered intermittently minutely
Against the wave's and constant tide
With only the steeple rock formations
As any form of barrier or protection
Without it's blinking search light
Now sleep's ever more come
The darkness under cover of solent night
It no longer greets any ships or shoals
All it does and is left to do now is
Rot and crumble away and be covered in
Crustacean shell's and a wreaking scent
Of salty thick white sea mist
That serves simply as to keep the
occasionally passing odd
1 or 2 trophy hunter or ghoulish
collector
From further quickening it's imminent
demise
for Tabitha
The sun wanders westward
towards the old frontier,
dragging its heft across plateaus
of New Mexico. Along Route
66, a quick toe-dip in Tahoe sets
Reno aglow. Quicker than that,
Nevada bucks, bankrupt and
rusted. The Hindenburg above
Wyoming, the sun gasps helium
and flame, desists in the ether
and disappears, leaving the
world, simultaneously teeming
with visionaries and traffickers,
to moonlit Pacific quandaries.
And so, it makes sense, Tabitha,
your winter scarf worn in
summer, frayed by the dull
gleam of lost pioneers latched to
your lips at their corner, wearing
you down with heavy freight.
But even then, I smile to see
your sadness, the way
you stack dark onto darkness.
Because, in all the years I’ve
known this street on which you
and I are talking, no one has left
me quite as you: facing due east,
chasing a vision towards where
tomorrows emerge from
obsidian snare…and you sleep.
Like clover petals
We bind together for all
Good Ol' Irish Luck
For the love of green
From Ireland so it seems
Originally
A tough bunch we are
Catholic Mobsters due east
Fight Protestant Priests
Drink till half past three
Story telling Histories
Of our Ancestry
Revised 05/05/16
My Dad, a little honest like a Priest
Taught me how to live and feast
With bangles of gold and diamond to your wrist
After a bloated tummy chant petitions due east
Son, nothing your path spare like a beast
'Cos amongst earth you're spared not to be the least
Told me life's but an illusion of morns mist
Gentle and rough 'pends on the angle you twist
I hail this sage who but on papers make no list.
-
James Dean an MGM dream
Sprawls unseen towards the door
Tipping his hat Hello Mama and that
He shuffles his shoes to the floor
Shakespeare a play McBeth he should say
a dagger towards his hand
His glasses allow great gaze over brow
a method actor's clap on demand
Due East of Eden a mother was bleeding
Stole comfort from drink and the bottle
James and his Porsche a destinal course
His life measured speed through the throttle
The black suited man from oil in the sand
A cattleman's stock to re-brand
Rivals those two rebellious crew
A Giant a legend of land
A swerve and a shout a policeman drives out
There James who is slumped near at hand
Ascensional dream rise up from this scene
A teenager and rebel most grand
Swallowed up somewhere in the South Pacific
Amelia and her Lockheed Electra vanish one day
On July 2, 1937 her last radio contact received
In that time, poor navigation tools at play
In an attempt to circumnavigate the globe
With Navigator Noonan she bravely set out
From South America they headed due east
Following a planned but difficult route
Africa, India, S.E. Asia and on to New Guinea
But she never arrived at the next scheduled stop
Howland Island, a ship standing by to refuel
In the vast ocean, this land only a tiny drop
Many scenarios imagined over the years
Ditched in the water and lost to the sea
Crashed on an island and finally succumbed
Knowing that lost to the world she must be.
At home in the vast reaches of the sky
Breaking ground for the women of her time
Scholar, author and fashion trend setter
A unanswered tragedy, she still in her prime
* In December of 2010, 3 small bones, a shoe, and some makeup found on
Nakumaroro Island in the vicinity of Howland Island. DNA studies underway to
determine whether they might be Amelias.