Skyline
I haul my worries to crumbling coastal edge,
seek tranquility among driftwood, white surf.
Baby ground squirrels emerge from wild radish,
skitter across boardwalk, dive into safe burrows.
Denial is my refuge, paints over uneasy
cohabitation that no longer works.
Stiff breeze slaps rugged chaparral, arouses
desire for simple golden mornings like this.
Sun provides temporary detente,
illuminates past and future trail.
Storm clouds rumble against dark horizon.
Shards of promising blue appear here and there.
Bend Over Backwards
Decades of bowing to accommodate strong winds
transform flexibility into permanent distortion.
I am tired of rearranging values and priorities
to create room for
unreasonable people.
Relaxing the rules only reinforces bad habits,
irresponsibility, sense of entitlement.
Time and travail leave you beaten down,
unable to rise when you need to.
Bending over backwards for those who don’t
appreciate sacrifice can make you
a cripple.
Walk on Water
Moonstone surfers straddle boards,
paddle among circling dolphins,
rest and rock upon outback,
wait for curling pulse,
to catch liquid swell.
A blackbird guffaws
as they snag a wave,
take the drop, hover,
then slide above spindrift
like wet-suited saints.
Be careful bending over backwards.
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