Saturday, March 10, 2012

Not so many gods

The rocky shore of blue cloud sunrise
lifts salty breath to other orange shores
where purple breaks stroke faces wet
and the gull's white cry whirls pure.

I found things he used in a weathered shed
and rusted used in cold rain hard beside
the wet earth and sweat and handle's bled
that married slick life to a harrowed bride.

Inland brown and headland teal and green
might not be as orthogonal as they seem
unless a scripture writ on the color of birds
is comically altered in a headstrong world.


  1. the maestro of the image plays on.... what a fine poem.

  2. Such colourful poetry! Also like how this progresses from prosaic, to a-b-a-b and then culminates in a-a-b-b. Truly excellent work.