Julianne's Smile
I see her image flicker in the twilight;
a little summer nymph,
skipping on slender ropes of sea mist,
dancing on the beach,
shaking her sunset-washed hair.
Her idle audience--
lavender tinted shells,
smooth pebbles, and stranded starfish,
the ocean’s playfully discarded burden,
awaits to be retrieved by the tide.
I watch her drift across the sand,
gracefully arching to collect smooth
rose-colored stones, her precious gems;
in her open hands they blend together
like bits of colored sky that gleam
over our rolling bluffs each evening
and light up the horizon in shades of pink--
like those in my Julianne’s smile.
Two Harbors, Catalina
Across the rolling bluffs that hedge around
The bays, where yellow flowers fleck the grass,
An isthmus separates two harbor coves,
Pacific breezes wander through the pass.
Each morning, mist and clouds move up the hills
Until midday; then, sunrays clear the view
And warm the kelp where small Bocaccio swim,
while gulls sweep over hills into the blue.
The sailboat masts, like fingers, dot the scene;
Beneath the clouds they bob without a sound,
Their colored awnings folded up and stored
Until the chill of nightfall comes around.
I find a vacant hammock near a palm,
Caress a sarsaparilla in my hand,
Then dream about the fish at Harbor Reefs
And dig my bare feet in the summer sand..
The Pond
While watercress is flowering on the pond
And bulrushes are sleeping by the shore,
A meditative breath of evening comes,
Descending down from where the angels soar.
The beech are hanging full beneath the moon;
They move their limbs like harbingers of peace
And whisper fondly, from their emerald leaves,
Long chantries that their supple boughs release.
As ever-rolling silent hours creep by,
In search to find the beauty of the dawn,
Regardless of the certitude of day,
The nightingale’s sweet voice will tarry on.
The purple skies now sift another shade,
As gleaming dew-drops scatter through the dell,
while quietly the sun curls morning up,
Encapsulated in a golden shell.
When black-winged swallows fly past clover fields
And air-swept lindens lift to touch their wings
In sweeping gestures, then ring foxglove bells,
And all of summer rises up and sings.