Watchers Tale

As we sat, the writing group  
on Par beach between the water and the land
kind gradient, a gentle slope
conversation trickled like grains of sand
 
Beneath our fingers ,do you suppose, September's cool
and idle thoughts of inspiration rose
 sky and clouds we wandered in that vestibule
 sinking sun drew that day unto a close
 
And low on the horizon's curve
we squinted held a hand to our forehead
the arrowhead without a swerve
in stately  progress, straight ahead
 
I cried with glee "grey geese I see"
the dogs still ran to chase a ball
what did they know, did they perceive
to fly the miles and never stall
 
For greener grass or fresher pond
 their flight path marked invisible
by generations over sea and land that wound
 to the tranquil sword so hospitable
 
The chevron slowly flapping wings
in solemn grace, to that reach the landing zone  
the necks outstretched into the wind
they came from Netherland's  to home
 
No customs post or boarder check  
to leave and never to look back
go as you are, no need to pack
unvarnished joy and no shellac  
 
Each scane as sunset dawned outlined
to find the nest to roost
a head under the wing, its blackout blind
on the river bank or shady nook
 
My dream to wake a crack of dawn
 rise from this dull common ground
 join them as they trek airborne
and honk and fly the world around

Not soured now with age and pain
be the Peter Pan of fairy tale
the aeronaut with time unchained
and walk the un-trod trail
 
 
 
 

Solicitude separates
the firmament, equilibrium
off kilter, babies cry
animals overwrought

It begins

low rumble amassing,
magnitude increases
Sounds have drowned out the heavens punctures my ears

Vintage stove 500 lb hopscotching with asbestos tile

The children !!
one on my hip one in each hand the four of us make our way
 to the door flooring and walls like bumper cars to our bodies we reach the threshold like threading a moving needle

Darkness gives way to eerie light
as we run,  cracks in the sand
 and soil open,  then close
leaping over one, then the next
to reachi,  the edge of the property

Old concrete slab welcomes us
for a moment
Earth's movement will not back down liquefaction begins
pouring itself down ruptured terrain

Power poles swaying,  the ground heaves to spit up whatever is planted
 Joshua trees move like a dark sentry calling for cease fire

Slowing begins,  quaking lessens the atmosphere is electrically charged
where are the birds ?
Cadillac buried, to the frame in hardpan

Someone knocking
at my early morning door
USC geologist sets up camp
on the back forty
second day after,  I inquire
of the damage.

Ruptured mantle ultrasound measures the surface a major fault line as 5 miles deep

each summer i go to paris to write
and each trip i make you greet me
as though you haven't seen me in ages
then you tell me i get more beautiful
with each passing year
but i'm just getting older
and it's really men not women that
get better looking with age

i pose for you by day watching your brush
as it whisks over canvas
nights are spent in quaint restaurants
where we eat only the finest foods
chasing it down with the best of the wines

later in the night i try to write
but you won't let me
you're too busy teasing and tickling me
it's impossible to concentrate
you never cease tempting me into your bed
you tell me i will be famous
once your masterpiece is complete
then when i come to paris
everyone i pass by in the city will know me

He stood at the forest's edge                          
A pint of Irish whiskey in one hand                          
And watched the pale  pink snow falling                 Between the trees and covering the land               Then saw two wingless snow angels                         That were walking hand in hand                
Who were followed by the dark horse              
Pushing a dilapidated cart with his front hoofs       He heard the soft, sweet music playing                  Caught a glimpse of a huge baboon                        Conversing with the karaoke queen                          
                         
Now here comes the super sleuth                          
Who's madly trying to make his last clue work       Two lively cats hung by their tails from                
 a  tree limb curiously counting all the multicolored chickens sleeping      
 In  the empty robin's nest                          
He watched in awe as the bands came                   Marching through leading the parade                          
A leprechaun was dancing then stopped                 To look the gift horse directly in the face                  
 
 It's then as he stood in his drunken stupor            that he saw the flailing, ancient king                        Come speeding past all dressed up in rags           He stopped just long enough to say, "Hey, hey folks everyone should know, the show, it isn't over until the snow owl sings"                        
The last one on the scene was                        
 the voiceless talking trout without a single gill       Who said, 'It's alright if you                        
don't understand the moral of  the story                 Perhaps no one ever will."