sand leaves funny footprints
when the tide washes where I walked.
clouds are always changing
above me when I’m not looking.
rocks stop their whispering
even when I sneak up quietly.
candles watch me sadly, alone
when I’m waiting for something to happen.
Posts Tagged ‘Sand’
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Stick Man and Rock Man
Posted: November 17, 1990 in PoetryTags: Beach, Magic, Man, Rock, Sand, Stick, Woods
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.
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 PoetryTags: Beach, Clouds, Cry, Eye, Fish, Island, Purple, Sand, Shark
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.
Who can stand
Just lying awake at night
Waiting for sleep
To come dust your eyelids
With secret sand
Glittering and feather light
Weighted to keep
Them down without skids.
Incense – something to burn upon a stick
With many scents, you can take your pick
Pine and pinyon, sandwood, too
They probably even have leather of shoe.
Incense provides a pleasurable smoke
To breath and refresh and relax and stoke
Primeval passions, unleashed from their cell
Let loose from the madhouse by that elusive smell.
So brilliant, so fiery, yet so mellow
It changes, rearranges, and startles a fellow.
A stabilizing factor, possibly disturbed.
Sometimes my appetite has been curbed.
It makes you feel silly, or maybe feel cool
It will make you stand up and sing like a fool.
Now that you’re done, go take a bow
You can tell that I’m sniffing incense right now.
Untitled Poem #10
Posted: June 24, 1987 in PoetryTags: Beast, Bird, Blood, Cry, Eye, Heart, Ring, Sad, Sand, Song, Spirit, Window, Wing
Little bird sitting on the windowsill
Why is it that you look so ill?
What is the matter? What is wrong?
You no longer brighten the day with song.
Your eyes are sad, your feathers ruffled
With what unwholesome beast have you scuffled?
Your spirit is broken, like your bent wing
The clear notes of your cry now have a dull ring
Dirt is matted, dust is caked
Blood on your shoulder where you’ve been raked.
With agonized heart, I search the sands
As this little bird’s life bleeds out through my hands.
Serenity
Posted: June 20, 1987 in PoetryTags: Blanket, D'nofrio, Dream, Green, Light, Michelob, Mind, Night, Pen, Pride, Sand, Scream, Sea, Smile, Stream
As I sit here by a stream
I contemplate halfway in a dream
Of things and places and sunless seas
Of gigantic beanstalks and philosophies.
From the profound statements of the D’nofrio
To the mellow flavor of a Michelob,
From decisions made by our head of state
To these lines on which I contemplate.
Subconscious turmoil brings up fantastic stuff
Predominant phrases like “hey, life’s rough”.
Wearing a smile and a stupid stare
I look for ideas of which I can share.
These poems contained within my mind
Are many in number, and some unkind.
Yes I’m sorry to those I’ve offended
Let those faults be well amended.
But it’s true that they were meant to provoke;
Hey, I’m wandering again – this poem’s a joke.
I’m sitting amongst a bunch of rocks
By a small brook whose babbling talks.
With a little creativity it seems to say
Just be patient, let come what may.
So I watch and think and revel in nature
While my mind is really on nomenclature.
Twirling away, I write in prose
Where I am now, nobody knows.
Wait! Focus! I recognize this land;
Billowing waves joust with stoic sand.
The mind pans up like a movie shot
Alas, a Steven Spielberg I am not.
Sky fades to stars as day fades to night
And the horizon is bathed in incandescent light.
Speeding past planets in the universe
I find images of people who have been cursed.
Wailing and screaming, yet making no sound
I’m really glad that I am not sticking around.
Suddenly I’m alone in my bright green chair
With the ink of this pen it’s color it does share.
My feet on my stool, my notebook in my lap
Someone has written on the cover: CRAP.
Yet I still believe, and although I have paused
I take up my pen and I correct my flaws.
It takes ingenuity to live in this place.
Some go insane; they can’t handle what they face.
Just take a look at me for a terrible instance
Sometimes I can’t handle my very own existence.
I can be too foolish to swallow my pride
And I have even considered the aspect of suicide.
Many days in my life I would have missed
If it wasn’t for my stabilizing catalysts.
I owe it all to my security blanket
And now that I have kindly thanked it
One more thing I suppose I should write
Before I bid you all good night:
It’s fun to ramble on into infinity
When you are surrounded with such serenity.
The Conch Shell
Posted: April 9, 1987 in PoetryTags: Beauty, Conch, Echo, Mermaid, Naiad, Ocean, Sand, Sea, Secret, Wind
Walking on the beach
I spot a shell.
It is beautiful
So I pick it up.
I ask politely
Do you have a secret to tell?
To the conch
In my hands I cup.
I hold it carefully
To my ear
Listening for echoes
And the pounding of surf
But that’s not all
That I wish to hear
A remnant of
A mermaid’s mirth
Splashes above
The ocean’s roar.
Startled I look
Hoping to see
A pretty naiad
Or a galley’s oar
Yet there’s only wind
And sand and sea.
My moment past
Set the conch gently
Don’t bruise the colors
Or break a spine
Leave it for someone
Else to come presently
And let them wonder
About their find.
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