Thursday, November 28, 2013

Call of the Woodsmen

Leaf-lush
primal joy,
a magnet
drawing woodsmen
step by wide-eyed step.

Forrest bound
and snug,
wound tight
but somehow natural
in tree-cloaked garb.

and still
in the magic
of the first light
the world
as we were meant to see it:
waking,
alive
without the glare
of a cruel sun,
autumnal

and ripe for the taking. 

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Point Lobos

Like an exotic woman
Flashing plumage
For a mate she’ll never take
The coast is beauty, unforgiving.
Indifferent to the good children
Marveling at the starfish
In the bristling tidal pools,
Mocking its own beauty
Choked thick with seaweed.

Wave after wave cascade
A gorgeous wall of glassy blue
Thrashing like a fist
Heartless foam on sharp sand

Lurking undersea
The currents keep the seals away
Hills stuffed with scruff of trees
No traction sliprock hike to speak
As birds gawk from faraway stones.
Squint into the wind
At the fleeting phantom unseen otter
But can’t tell the dolphins
From the weeds.