Trail Watch

Alone on the trail,

not a body from north

to south until I reached the 

swamp where boys from the

development resurrect Francis Marion’s

Swamp Fox glories, I stopped 

and the silence 

that had kept me company

was burnished by a faint rustle.

I stood rock still in hopes

of seeing black bead-like

eyes, or rusty fur or feathers.

I heard another rustle

as silver circles skittered across 

the silken swamp surfaces. 

Shelter was a quarter of an hour away

as God rolled a cast iron tub 

across the floor boards of the sky.

Tiny stings chilled my cheeks.

Plump drops spattered my hair, 

Black asphalt, now ghost gray,

held ebony tree tops

captive in the wet sheen.

A soaked rider passed me; our 

eyes met, we shook our heads, 

and a grin bounced between 

us as wind and water 

drenched us in mirth.

Swamp Rabbit Trail

February 18, 2021

Furry, Striped Sharks

In the morning,
while the light is low

they cruise the waters
of the kitchen floor,

bump my ankle,
and mew for a sip of milk.

 

 

December 7, 2015

Anywhere

I guide my glassed 

envelope along the weaving

asphalt and see the crowns of

a million trees.

 

I recall the chittering

of a bird and a

small, furry rustle

amid the silent forest.

 

When the leaves go screaming 

off branches and lightning

strobes the windows,

I am sheltered in you.

 

As I stand with my 

toes in the sand,

the salt air 

waving my hair,

 

shushing breakers

settle my heart beat;

I am alone 

with you.

 

When the wind yowls and

the rollers pound, 

they thunder in my veins,

and I drink in your strength.

 

Anywhere, with you, is home.

 

 

 

Fall Equinox, 2018

Summer Friends

Bare grays go away,

yellow-greens come,

and we long for the appearance

of red summer-ripe 

tomatoes that drip down our chins.

 

Round, felted peaches 

come in sunset hues.

Juice of the first 

bite trickles out our lips.

Soon we see them no more.

 

Small brown-green

globes of scuppernong

jazz the air,

tantalize our taste buds,

and are gone.

 

At least apples are ripening.

Pumpkins will be toted by 

toothy smiles and small

hands that cradle the

trophies to chests.

 

Leaves blush and drop away,

naked arms finger clouds, 

draw down life blood for 

next summer’s friends.

 

 

August, 2018

Winter Bared Trees

nude, winter bare trees,
bole darkened with damp,
sinuous limbs silvery in sunlight
arch, twist in the chill air
twig fingers ache to cradle doming blue.

 
structure disrobed for all eyes to devour,
some frowzy haired maidens, frizzled with tiny sprigs,
others with massive trunks unfurling, stately, sedate,
branches stretching, streaming into sky,
languorous naked ladies, bare breasted and serene.

 

winter, 2015

Leaf Tag

The bright yellow autumn leaf
waved to and fro
and I waved back,
unashamed to be a child again,
dashing, diving after falling leaves
that bounced off outstretched fingers.

One tumbled over my head,
and landed on my nose.
I laughed out loud
at the joy of playing leaf tag
with the Creator of the Universe.

November 7, 2014

Must See

I once lay in a field of deep clover.

Below the emerald umbrella,
unnamed insects careened
among green stems and blades
at warp speeds beyond
Star Trek dreams.

When I sprawled, cheek down,
on the boardwalk
in a coastal Carolina swamp,

inches away,
the velvet veneer
of dual duckweed lobes,
thrummed with spindle-legged crawlies
intent on food and mates.

In a summer shower
I sat on the deck,
the banister at eye level.

Rain drops crashed,
tiny geysers arced,
silver spheres skated
on shiny concentric circles
atop the glossy rail.

What other marvels do my eyes miss,
When I only view the world
as homo erectus?

Carpe diem: Microworlds
July, 2015

Conundrum

Down in the dark
bottom drawer
how does the round
leather skinned onion

see the brown crackled twig
sprout red-green feathers,
hear the feathered choir, or
see the the leaded sky
mellow to yellow then blue,

and know to reach forth
his pale bladed fingers
to beg for warm
soil bed again?

3/19/2014