Eyes sweep left
they bob, reel right
mindlessly observing
spinning briny bales
unfurling foamy white
Rolling blue thunder
yields a crisp, veiled horizon
powdered with crystal mist
oxygen roars on a corkscrew jet
crashing…
a salty-surf hisses,
whispering: dissipate!
Drowning the din
the months
of full and monkey-mind moons
twisted, furled, entangled
ruminations…
vanish!
like a purging breath
‘neath the thunderous
ocean’s boom
The rain pelted, popping
…like corn
exploding ’gainst
steamy crystal window panes
while‘n exquisite, pungent
bellowing
spice of asparagus
clung, lingering …
arousing a longing, arousing a hunger
for the hard, nameless
brawny swain’s
glimmering, limering eyes
where had he come from?
what could it mean?
how could I seize its clinging
insatiable, its lusty allure
and bottle it…
forever?
Thank you for your love
Thank you for your light
Thank you for the path
that leads me out
from shadows’ might
He’s the one, it’s clear as day
the night is coal with clarity.
Noo…
he’s the one! the bacharach sings
in perfect pitch, my wetted finger
tracing ’round to ring
its beveled
crystal rim
And’s always felt,
I’ve known that tune
without a doubt
yes, that’s the one!
whose melody I’ll draw
into my lungs,
like oxygen
Of screaming teenagers
riding rickety, wooden terror
coasting electric,
rolling rails
metallic squealing,
slings us outward…
plummeting corkscrew
twisted trails
Sinking inky,
ecstatic plunge
black oblivious, abounding abyss
bubbling, buoyant, bouncing, brighter
looming
surface hues of blue
shades of tranquil,
shades of golden
Azure skies unshackle…
my!
centripetally
shanghaied
shallow breath
A certain bright sadness
lites on labor day weekend; hangs
dreamily
in the humid
suspended, salty breeze
jealous echoes long
for June’s fervent repaid promise
its budding, revivifying
fulgent summer sun
Passing seasons prompt an image:
giddy, peace-seeking beach pilgrims
beneath pastel-colored parasols
and savagely handsome
brawny bearded gadabouts
rugged faceless men
– mostly
the ones wade nakedly
seeking treasures
in their tightly-tailored
flesh-colored suits
knee-high through low-tide
sea marshes
and gilded scorching sand dunes
the ones, no one
ever hardly…
rarely ever, seems to meet
Driving mindlessly
barring on-ramps
choking route 6 from use
staking claim to my beaches
buying blue fish in schools
blocking tables to devour
my outer cape lobster
in candlelit, oceanfront hipsterants
they pillage my stores
imbibe at my bars
dance the night
to electronic beats
On tight steamy floors
make love to the eager
our sightless, our jaded
our local strangers
then suddenly, they vanish
like a sprightly ocean wolf
beneath the towering
rhythmic surf, an inhale
then a ROAR
falls crashing, and it shimmers
‘neath a longing harvest moon…
bequeathing
incandescent essence
to’n abandoned
silver shore
The only reason
we’re all here
right now
is because we believed
we wanted
to
be.
Some mornings seem to twinkle
brighter than others
as I sink deeper
into my snug, chocolate
worn leather arm chair
The cool late August breeze
washes like a stinging splash
of salty-cold cape cod ocean
over my still waking eyes
filling my nostrils
with the meaty scent of brine
Sunlight and silhouettes flicker
slip slowly ‘cross my thigh
then pounce like a lynx
onto cream-colored walls
Shadow puppets morph
into giant jungle-green
leopard-skinned, soaring-necked giraffes
exotic knuckle-kneed, glade-wading
powder-blue flamingoes, imperious
golden lolling lions and tigers
and ruby-masked knights
tilting at urban windmills
on medieval paths
Animated tales
told in cinematographic light
and shadows of a shifting
vernal equinox
of wind blown leaves
on trees that block the bright
Indifference foretells the tale
of yet another
luscious fleeting summer
of vibrant green hues
and vivid august blues
Born of solitary moments
spontaneous, she leeps
in shimmering single slivers
life dances, for a breath
across scintillating silver
unscripted screens of time
Fists of snowballs,
paper-white hydrangeas
pinken softly
signaling us, sparingly
of autumn’s unrelenting
sweetly ominous,
imminent arrival
Waking
from a muddled haze
on any yet, unfathomable day
proffers patent proof for the
edacious
desire
to push on
In the outer-cape town of Truro
where rubbish removal
but a fusty, fabled, foreign myth
known only to the provinces
of far off fairylands
Evidence of life
and a blue moon’s month
of passed over profferings
to the putrid, fetid
junkyard pyramids
bursts at the seams
of my creaky, aged
wooden garbage bin.
Pungent, wafting
maliferous bouquet
the spirited olfactress
hovers hauntingly to gloat
a tiresome reminder
a bullhorn of reproach:
“On the insipidities of life
you’ve been swimmingly
under-focused,
on the things keep others ticking
efficiently and fluid
all but bound together
like the waxing, waning lunar pull
on the ebbing and the rise
of ever-shifting ocean tides!”
A question of attending:
lent laimbrained concentration
on life’s vacuous, abhorrent
and tedious details?
Waiving white a loathe confession:
“What I’d rather do is jump!”
avoid the gnawing mission
to the dreaded, humdrum dump.
J: “I’ll have the Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp, but I have a shrimp allergy, so instead, may I please have the scallops?”
W: (with dramatic, feigned furrowed brow of empathy and regret) “Why I’m sorry sir, unfortunately we cannot make substitutions on The Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp.”
J: (with equally feigned furrowed brow of incredulity and a subtle smirk of defiance and self-satisfaction) “Hmmmm, OkAAAy, well then how about The Mixed Green Summer Salad with feta and scallops?”
W: “Well that, we can certainly do sir!”
J: (inner voice) Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”
W: “Excuse me sir! How is The Mixed Green Summer Salad with feta and scallops?”
J: (beaming with enthusiastic curled-corner-lipped sarcasm) “Fantastic! It’s almost exactly the same as your Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp, but this one instead has scallops, and is shrimpless.”
W: (with oblivious sincerity or stark theatrical brilliance) “Why I’m happy you’re enjoying it sir, and I apologize that we couldn’t have accommodated your preferences on The Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp, but I will most definitely inform the chef of how much you’ve enjoyed this one!”
J: 😳
Musing Forward...Thoughts, Words by JF Toomey 