Yardarms swing with the coming storm
The moored ships rock on the rising waves
Only those tied loose will withstand the blow
Sailors don’t have tombstones to adorn a grave
VI. Yardarms Swing With The Coming Storm
wave
Oh, Where Does Our Journey End
Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
Taking A Moment To Pause
Taking a moment to pause
Allowing all the colors & sounds
To penetrate my senses
I’m going to miss being around
Soon to return to the sea
Riding waves with crushing might
Darkness closing in on me
Holding fast to escape the night
*not really going back to sea. just remembering the feeling of writing this before the holidays a few years ago
The Waves Don’t Mean So Much
The waves don’t mean so much
Floating empty; upon this rusty ride
Sunset to sunrise & I’m all alone
At the mercy of the wayward tide
An Innocent Looking Soul
An innocent looking soul
Draped with an ethereal gown
Confident strides across the patio
With Eve’s revenge
Crisp air – like the first bite of a green apple
Obscured; knowing her nectar to be my cure
I watch her bosom swell
It’s not objectivization
For I worship her
Refreshed in waves
This transparent Victorian hypocrisy
Knowing all that ails
& an unseen wound
Yet morning crests
Pale orange sky forces it’s way through space
In the arms of naked trees
I’m celebrating femininity
Spring’s arrival in a sundress
As she teases me with breathless recitals
Our love not by design
But still goes well with NorCal wine
I Can’t Swim That Far
I can’t swim that far
No use for a sailor like me
Floating with the jetsam
Without the pomp or jubilee
This grey cell rocking
On each & every wave
At the whim of nature
I pray for Jesus to save
A daily grind in hell
No time for witty quips
This a mere life raft
For the Devil’s Flagship
Captain Q 