Mornings (Will Never Be the Same Again)

Sunrise burns through the early mist,
warming me like a quilt forever shared,
unaware the delicate, weak seams
would eventually fray and split;
letting the cold morning wind inside.

The storm arrives without warning,
fury consumes hurt, suddenly casting
a dark shroud across our blue skies,
over the angry sea, gray like wet slate.
Even at a safe distance, we can no longer protect
our moors from being thrashed upon
by tempestuous surf, uninvited to our private beach.

We do not have the strength and courtesy
to hold on to threadbare ghosts of our years.
Once tender now lies tossed,
heaped in a corner of tattered pain.

Traveling down broken and divided roads,
our backs turned, hearts chilled;
we walk away from mornings that once were,
to mornings that will never be the same again.

Giving the Beach Back to the Tourists

DCF 1.0August brings forth the winding down of summer days and nights. Soon Nature’s landscape will begin slow quiet changes often without notice. Before the calendar rolls in September, I give you a poem of quiet summer reflection. A moment in time when evening settles in and memories are held dear…..

 

Midnight slips out of translucent skies,
my salty skin is whitewashed with splashes of light.
Beads of sweat trickle between white breasts
moonlight arouses my calm center
as we lie on a bed of sand and shell.
 
Tied loosely to moorings,
far off fishing boats bobble and creak.
The Atlantic murmurs, channel markers clang
under a spill of silver stars.
 
Quivering beneath the elegant canopy,
I reveal myself to bursts of dream light,
my flesh rhyming with yours.
 
The whimsical tides jump and play with the gulls;
breezes swish through sea oats and beach grass.
Your fragrance surges among
temperamental pleasures,
summons the waves to crest again and again.
 
In the lavender-streaked dawn, we search the beach
for tossed undergarments, and washed up treasures
before tourists stomp on sun bleached boardwalks
in their cavalier march towards the sea.

 

 

Evening Tour

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Walking under the magical light of a lavender dusk;
the crushed shell road crunches under my weary feet.
I am alone, with thoughts that blow and swirl around
to the incessant voice of high tide,
as if placing one step ahead of the other
gives the trusted answer.

Scoured by raw salty winds, aged by the sharp sun,
a splintered fence appears and meanders
among tall clumps of beach grass and crowded sea roses.
I take in the sky’s lantern watching
one sanctuary dissolve into another
Retreating into the shouldering dunes undisturbed;
I allow the quiet of stopped wind breathe into my veins
as sloping sand spills down

settling around my footsteps.

Beach Harvest

A warm morning on the beach;
the sunrise bellows tangerine and lavender
where sea and sky become one.
I walk in sand-silenced footsteps
along the shoreline with a gathering bucket in hand,
listening to breakers crash and the cry of gulls.

Above pelicans swoop and soar above the salt spray,
waves uncover a beach harvest
tumbling over and over in the bubbly foam.
I retrieve sparkles of sea glass and shell
battered against a piece of gray, gnarled driftwood.
Crumbled sand dollars mingle
with yellow cockles and pearl oysters
swept in from the overnight tides.

I bend to scrutinize as if I were the looking glass
picking up what rolled in as I slept.
I arise to search the face of a fisherman
out early casting his line into the surf
needing a fortune for another day.

He says, “I need a fortune for another day;
the sea is my livelihood.”
I say, “For me, she is a long lost friend
to whom I return.”