Axle

Time is many wheels revolving slowly
along a central spine...
an axle. Is it accident or holy,
this universal line?

The stars exist in circles, never-ending,
arrayed in common space.
The paradox? One's view of time's depending
upon the viewers pace.

The Earth and her companion form an axis,
an ordinary wheel.
Man, and this is where the parallax is,
has pride enough to feel

that time and space revolve around his need,
the need to understand
and, strangely, time now seems to be, indeed,
unfolding as if planned.

Posiedon's Breath

A storm at sea, Poseidon's might,
in silhouette, Saint Elmo's fire.
Though death may take him in the night
he's "not afraid" or he's a liar!

A storm is like a glass of wine
to complement this Sailor's feast.
He'll swig and judge the vintage fine
but never swallow in the least.

There's challenge in Poseidon's rage
at those who dare to cross his path.
Though "heaving to" appleals, this sage
will choose to tempt the surging wrath.

Poseidon's breath may bring his end...
yet canvas flies. Be damned the wind!

On Easter

Enchanted by an island princess fair,
we sailed to Easter riding winds of light
and, soft, before the the people were aware,
removed her to our dark abyss of night.

Thereafter, from a time that's out of mind,
a sentry stands in place upon the shore
as drawn by Rapa Nui rendered blind
to life but for the sacred task they bore.

His stony face forever to the sea;
his charge to stand until we have released her
as bid by the forgotten race to be,
eternal shall he look away from Easter...

to leagues and leagues away and yet beyond
with all his stony brethern of the bond.

Star Sailors

I've looked into the future, looked
as far as dreams can see
at unimagined wonders and
the magic that will be.

The stars are filled with sailing ships
the clippers of the skies...
all captained by cephalopods
with deep vermilion eyes.

They navigate the galaxies
and fly the steller winds
from Canopus to Betelguese
to where the matter ends...

They utilize another math
and octants made of ice
for human sums and instruments,
of course, will not suffice

to chase the moons and comet tails
to ports of call unknown;
to worlds inside a universe
where light has never shone.

Running

I do all my running in circles
when screaming and throwing a fit
and mostly I huff without puffing
whilst stomping away in a snit

And I do my exercise nightly,
I’m walking at lunch without fail.
I cut iceberg lettuce in pieces
to carry to work in a pail.

I may lose my temper routinely,
and screech like a Barbary ape...
although I may shout quite obscenely
at least I am staying in shape.

Old Salt

"'O God the sea is so great and my boat is so small.'" ~ John F. Kennedy ~

Man hoists a sail to fly upon the wind,
through spray and storm; to scale the mountain sea.
And though it’s just, it feels as good as sin
and moves us near to heaven; ecstacy
that fires the human spirit. God’s decree
was that our salt should match the sea, and this
has charged the very blood that flows in thee.

A sailor bleeds of nature’s dark abyss
and lives to taste her tears; her deep primeval kiss.



"I really don't know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it's because in addition to the fact that the sea changes, and the light changes, and ships change, it's because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea--whether it is to sail or to watch it--we are going back from whence we came."

~ John F. Kennedy ~ Remarks in Newport at the Australian Ambassador's Dinner for the America's Cup Crews, September 14, 1962, Public Papers of the Presidents: 1962, p. 684.

How

How like a flame in fickle wind,
how fragile, love, when old or new
that, with a breath, comes to an end,
that, with another, glows anew.

How turn the cycles of the tides,
in waves, toward a battered shore.
How love erodes, how earth abides,
each grain of sand as those before.

How can I live if love can die,
why does love come, if it must go
How bittersweet was our goodbye
and how, my love, was I to know

that you could go and yet remain
the glow of love's eternal flame?

When Rhyme has Passed

I think I’ll think outside the bag
and write between the verses.
I’ll stiff them when they call for sag
and act while they rehearses.

I know I’ll live outside the land
of rules and lengthy speeches.
I’ll, findng rhythm, tune my hand
when free is what they preaches.

I’m anti-poet, since you asked,
inside the lines I’ll not.
And chances are, when rhyme has passed,
my verse they’ll long forgot.