Saturday, March 22, 2014

At the Shore, in April (Poem 356)

Offshore, fog blooms,
but here, boats shimmer in 
watery sunlight, creaking 
old floorboard tunes.
Pelicans fall from the sky
over  rocks shivering
dark with sea lions 

Cold April winds set old lovers 
to walking, where poetry flutters in 
the budding trees like piano keys 
trilling under small, young hands.

Misty children skip along the wet 
sand, tracing lacy puffs of foam, 
their fits of giggles rising, gull-like, 
on the breeze. 

Selflessly, they offer jingling 
shell-and-sea-glass trinkets to their 
mothers, who watch the day unfold 
from rumpled plaid blankets, 
eyes scanning the stanzas 
written on the horizon.

As twilight blooms, wood smoke 
melts sunburned smiles, leaves bright 
eyes bleary. Foolishly in love, young
couples linger until midnight, then 
trail off, hearts burning for their 
white-painted bedrooms. 

In full joy, three dolphins leap,
luminescent, beyond the point. 
Boats sputter. Later, 
the golden stars will sway
and spin.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six