The reverend preaches once
a week in the white chapel
beneath the reddening maple
In a town where dogs abound
but none bark
between fields of nasturtiums
and 6 foot tides
on the full moon minus tide
a horizon of geysers
between the sea swept rocks
And when I kneel to dig
a clam shoots me between
the legs, just enough to
make me wonder at
their bivalve consciousness and
their ability to orchestrate complex jokes.
Pao wears a multitude of
sea stars upon her back
giving in to their slow
Methodical grasps.
Behind a shoulder of Mt. Tam
the pale moon rises in full
to peer over its lover
Her long legs running out to the gate
And her lush hair falling back towards
Point Reyes.
The horizon is still save the
negative shadow
the day time suitor
casts upon the sleeping princess's
soft westward side
he is home riding off into the pacific.
Winter in California.
A band of sandy old men drink
beers and smoke pot
against a town sponsored graffiti wall
They smile, mouths full of sunset
Guitar strums are deaf in the surf,
In the tide returning to follow the suitor,
But it was never about the music,
just the life
4 brown skinned bodies with
a slowness to their eyes
work the soil at the corner of
OB and HorseShoe Hill Road
Filamentous shoulders twitch
with each thrust, each turn
Birth, a seed.
From the road to Fairfax
mud flats of Bolinas below
I wonder if the clams know
of the toils of soil.
Great! Very visual, sensual, philosophic.
ReplyDeleteMight suggest to remove some of the commas and insert an extra space instead
Write out 6 foot waves (editing stuff) unless you want it that way visually. . . next to last stanza. . .Maybe reconsider separating the key words: Thrust. Birth. Seed. into single lines. They are powerful.
Love the Mt. Tam stanza. Beautiful imagery. Remove "And"?
I've always felt that visual and written art are a natural combination.
Wonderful work. You're inspiring me.My poetry channel has been in neutral for a while.
L.