hoodwinked shoal of fish
in strong close spun nylon nets~
fight for survival
In my Pearl observed a hole:
The Hidden black of a mole;
From that day ceased to be whole,
From that hour A Big Charcoal
I should not give my prized soul
Or, else, smell not my set goal,
Play not a cherished clean role
Nor body support on firm sole...
In Pearl spotted a clear hole
For which folks I give a pole...
Pearl might fish catch: a full shoal
But won't out a quarter dole:
Feared men seek to ride like foal...
The Hidden Black of a Mole.
She lay upon the sand, lowtide-cold, salted-dry, dissheveled.
Tomorrow would have been her twenty first birthday,
unadorned, except for the seaweed in her brassy blonde hair.
Tip-toeing across her blue-gray cheek, a pink crab foraged,
unhindered, it dined on the whites of her eyes.
Only the sea and sand cradled her now.
First Published in Of Sun and Sand 2013
part Of a hurricane Press
GOLDEN SHOAL
Playful twinkling school of sunbeams
Fluttering o’er the rippling streams;
Shimmering shadow of sun golden -
His skyglow’s moving liquid children.
Jostling, splashing at joyful ease -
A shining shoal enjoying the breeze.
............................................................................................................
Note:
Ever watched the sun ripple off the waves of a river? This is what I saw this morning.
Last tendered lifeline sought as battered psyche under your bellowing wave rips
Final act of penance remitted from bleeding, parched lips
Hemorrhaging from bandaged sorrows that only strerile soul doth eclipse
A hollow stare from deserted strand harboring the wreckage of two, desolate ships
Posture now callous bearing the scars of your shallow, superficial preening grips
Disheveled hair, limp dividend declaring inferior complex that from each emotive strand drips
Pale, drawn face; vessel sunken from draining sinkholes as our relationship dips
Pensive smile revealing the fault line of each strained shock as chasm deeper slips
Shuttering ears filtering out the rehearsed, rhapsodic notes of your telepathic scripts
Token, parting gesture from arrhythmic heart erasing each beat as your radar blips
I suppose the transcendence that is sought after
Will come from a potential difference
Belonging to an electron surge that will fill my cup
To the brim
So I can then tip my hat to the waiting masses
With phalanges that sparkle and emit tiny hurricanes
All for the honor and glory of the unrequited neural infarctions
That spun off of your lips
During those building moments where
We hung onto the precipice with the skin of our teeth
Yet there are no branches ejecting out from the side of this cliff
To grasp onto
During moments of terminal velocity
Yes
I thought someone would someday enter a vast trance and see everything
I had hoped I had this power
Not even Siddhartha could muster up this kind of energy
I suppose we are just beautiful collections of atoms afterall
... in the rhythmic swishing
of the ebb tide hesitantly
leaving the sandy shoal,
something there hushes
down the turmoils, tremors
of the tormented, weary soul ...