Saturday, September 19, 2015

The Bamboo Hut, Autumn 2015

a washboard road
woven between fallow fields
leads me backward
to a past so much smaller
than I had remembered

Irish dancers
their lightning steps flash
phosphorescent waves
thunder at my feet

wrecking balls
expose long-held secrets
these crumbling facades
we are masterpieces

my body with woad
I succumb
to the strange allure
of melancholia

in the "nuisance ground"
black bears
catching the scent of me
catching the sight of them

note:  "nuisance ground" is a term used for a rubbish dump near a small town

On the Strand

our beach wedding
ribbons of dreams fluttering
from the old boat's mast

the singing sands
on a wind-strummed beach
you murmur my name

wet beach towels
we dance a fandango
in the hot breeze

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