Posts Tagged ‘Beach’

The Pier

Posted: April 2, 1995 in Poetry
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The pier is flung out past the surf
Into the deep water
Like a sleeper’s unconscious arm
Idly hanging over the edge of the bed.
Sunlight scuba dives for the flickers
Of schools of little fish
And warms the top of the waters –
Where the seaweed loosely hangs
Like bead curtains or piles of laundry. –
Frosting on the cake of the beach.
And the seagulls! Clouds wheeling,
Settling, screeching insults at each other
In the dingy parking lot
At the foot of the pier,
Lone white-breasted panhandlers
Eyeing the people fishing from the deck
From a safe distance.
The swirl of wind-borne sand
By the land-bound pilings,
The whorls of water around its sea legs,
Troughs of wave swells
On their way to the board-straddling surfers
Flash the wealth of sea life
Clinging to the stilled beast.
I leapt off the pier once,
Disobeying one of two white-stenciled laws
That decorate the fading grey-green railings:
One: no jumping or diving;
Two: no overhead casting.
I lost all my air on impact;
Between the shock of wallop and water,
It was all I could do to swim in.
The pier teaches endurance in many ways.

Untitled Poem #200

Posted: March 2, 1995 in Poetry
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I love you even though
We fight and fuss
And make a mess
Of each other.
You forgive.
I like that.

The clouds were herded
Past the pier,
Nearer the horizon
Than the beach;
The sun water colored
As I watched:
The Van Gogh of
Our galaxy.

Punch Drunk

Posted: February 12, 1995 in Poetry
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I’m trying to escape;
Now, too late
To unchoose what I chose
What seems like long ago.
The responsibilities come
Steady, now – steady
As the tide churns the sand
On the beach is another
Wrinkle in the lines of my hand.
Roll with the punches, punch drunk;
More are on their way,
There’s no use cursing
About the ones landed yesterday.

A Poem on a Note on the Fridge

Posted: November 6, 1993 in Poetry
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I forget the joy of writing
then reading what I’ve written,
curling like a kitten play-fighting
with the same gentle hands
that stroke poems from the sand
of the beaches that I walk on
when I haven’t forgotten
that I love to be alone sometimes
with my simple childish rhymes.

Pennywise as a Lover

Posted: August 30, 1993 in Poetry
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when I am away
I know that I am in love
with you,
with salts and breezes
from the ocean
that would go well
with your blonde hair,
helium balloons
for your big blue eyes,
dripping sandcastles
in the reflection of the sun
on the sealskin sand
of the tide on the beaches.

and I am the mist
that crawls in off the old pieces
of the sea that were caught
in tidepool fishing nets last night;
I come wrapping, a stole
around the necks of the cliffs,
rising up from the beach,
heads sheared off like
so many broken Michaelangelos.

Hush

Posted: August 22, 1993 in Poetry
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you asked me once upon a time
if I could hear the speech of the sea.
I said yes and that
was where are agreement ended;
you heard eulogies, laments,
cries of change and supportive flesh,
the echoes of watery hands
drumming on cliffsides,
rolling rocks into its stomach,
a maelstrom of creative fury
controlled and unleashed
by the whim of the innocent moon.
But when I hear the ocean,
it is a purring cat, content
on lapping milky foam
on the sands of this one beach
and saying to me over and over
as it launders the shores
“hush . . . it’s alright”.

Black Jack

Posted: June 6, 1993 in Poetry
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I
and when the madness comes
she creeps around the corridors,
pausing to stomp on cats’ tails
pausing to drive in rusty nails
and slam subconscious doors
behind my eyes.

II
it would be easy one day
to fall down and stay,
not moving, wherever I was
and not respond to my rescuers;
to get placed away for refusing to speak
or move or do anything for myself.
so easy and tempting, just for a week.
I’m sure they’d find something to do with me.

III
I GO ON THIS VICIOUS CYCLE:
I love her forever.
Can I trust her?
I can trust her.
Will I love her forever?
I love her forever.
Can I trust her?
I can trust her.
Will I love her forever?
I GO ON THIS VICIOUS CYCLE.

IV
the air was full of birds,
these pigeons and seagullls
that I had disturbed
walking along the beach by myself
wondering if she’s all by herself.
but putting that aside
would we have walked on by
all of this wild-winged fuss
if it wasn’t just me but if it had been us?

V
keep on going until the pen runs out
and finally I might figure it out.
I’m pulling apart flowers for answers
and neither type of petal reassures
me of this thing I’d like to realize
is right or wrong or right before my eyes.
this pile of broken flowers, growing higher
is colored like a cheerful winter fire
but dead without the red that makes it gay
is my heart, ashen cold and worn away.

VI
I’m frozen in the moment
that I’ve jumped from a high place
trying for the water;
it’s not enough to miss the rocks.
frozen
in the
moment.
it is stealing over my face.
look closely. there’s the rocks.

VII
I made it to 21. like blackjack.

VIII
that Catholic skull that I dreamed of
at least once a year since I was seven or eight
was me, laughing at least once a year
that I was still stupidly here.

IX
the idea of breaking
so many hearts,
of making the many upset,
of shaking alll of these folks;
it seems like the ultimate cannonball
in the jacuzzi of life.

Japanese Poem Imitations

Posted: May 2, 1993 in Poetry
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I
when flowers bloom in
many fiery colors,
I imagine the
bright sparkles which I,
in your eyes, no longer see.

II
bamboo grows along
one part of the lagoon beach
where the iceplant twines
below it, a dress
around the feet of a girl.

III
at the end of this
I recollect the times I
have failed to achieve
the smooth of the tide
and the soft wind in the trees.

IV
coffee reminds me of
a brew of roots and beetles
which you’d make me drink
and I would cough to
say I knew your spellcasting.

Important Enough to Sit Still

Posted: April 27, 1993 in Poetry
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heated with rose wine
from a big cheap bottle,
I immerse myself in beach sand.
full and sun-warm,
like the fat flavored wine,
like Mediterranean sea-air;
I remember through the hiss of the surf
how it was like blood down the back of my throat,
that wine,
and how I must have been meant to drink blood on the beach.

Another Song for a Cure

Posted: March 26, 1993 in Poetry
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when the sun sets and the lights come out
in the beachfront homes I walk alone
to clear my head and cut the sting
of the thoughts the end of the day brings
they swim alongside my walk, my pace
a school of dolphins who splash my face;
I don’t always enjoy what they do to me,
making me think things over carefully –
it is they who really write my poetry.

I never knew how much I cared
for anything – not until I finally dared
to lose it all by telling the truth
seeing what came out when I opened my mouth.
I’m still waiting for the water to clear,
for the echoes to fade so that I can hear
what I’m doing and what I’ve done so far;
with what monsters I must continue to spar,
the attention I give to particulars…

a bottle of wine and a sunset,
a beach a place to sit;
this is what I’d like to do
with you to believe.
I believe you can summon dolphins
and that you’re a spirit, an angel.
I know of our fears of demons
and of blue bathroom windows,
ouiji boards and my piano playing.
I live to see you cry and argue
and almost break: then
there are my arms for comfort,
my tongue for talking and my ears
for listening and understanding.
I’ll catch you from harm
by falling against you at the same time;
we’ll teeter but we won’t topple.
all of the sunsets are painted on a canvas
big enough to share: the sky
– and I’d like to share it with you.

My Mother in the Ocean

Posted: November 5, 1992 in Poetry
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it is something, standing by the sea,
feeling my heart and my blood
fashioned rudely out of ocean-salt
and the milk of beach-foam.
I feel the pull of the moon
on the tide standing here,
examining the sky
in the sheen of the wet sand,
in the surface of the water.
I smell the wet sexuality
of my ever moving mother;
a lover of immense strength;
hypnotic, the woman with depths
for her eyes, skin wet and fluid,
salty hips and buttocks and breasts,
cheeks and lips and thighs
in the flexing of waves and
in the rolling of the water, the foam.

Stick Man and Rock Man

Posted: November 17, 1990 in Poetry
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I remember stealing through the woods
admiring the trees all the while
catching a magic glimpse of you
dancing alone with a smile.

walking along a seaweeded beach,
I play in the sand with you.
I build you castles for your delight
then walk home with sand in my shoes.

Sand and Sea

Posted: November 13, 1990 in Poetry
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I walked alone to the beach
To write poetry in the sand,
Just to have it washed away
By a wet and watery hand.

I stayed to watch the tide come in,
Salt tears ran down my face.
Not because my poem was gone
but for the beauty of the ocean’s embrace.

C-R-Y

Posted: November 12, 1990 in Poetry
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Standing on an island
C-R-Y
For the melting purple clouds in the sky
Let them go
So down burns the sun in all its glory
Palm trees weeping from the weight of their coconuts
The footprints I leave
In the sand of the beach
Remind me that I’ve been here before
Purse your lips and ignore me
My, my, the streams running pell-mell
From your eye
The shark fins circle
So many lazy fish.