Each month, write a new collection.
Come sit beside me friendEmbrace my leafy welcomeStretch your toes in the sand Soothe your question clamorIn my lullaby.California friendGive me a moment’s rest, Then I’ll explore your caves Stroll along your shoresSing my story back.With our time together shortI’ll be quiet, watch and learnI’ll give the best I have Grateful to be hereKaliedeiscope dream.
I love this. It really captures the feeling of being there and then the reference at the end makes it!
You SwearThe sun skips merrily on the waveswhile the trees sway lazily in the breezethe call of an unknown bird echos in the distanceyou swear you're standing at the edge of HeavenThe surf cries out its aquatic roarand crashes against the ancient sandwith the scent of the sea pooling in the grassyou swear you've found the parasise lostCool mosses creep out on the branchesand dust the air with its sticky pollenminerals glisten on the face of the rockyou swear you've discovered a secret gardenShades of green melding with bluethe earth's veins running deep with goldthe Perfect Hand of God is before you and you swear you've finally come home
I really love when you bring your religious beliefs in! Think about an anglican publisher for these!
Display of What Cannot Be Owned: Anna Althea Hill’s Evening on the Pacific, and My dogsitting here to catch the unseendo’er in the grip of my chopstick lens but what I see instdis the rot-bannana pea-pods and twinned catalpa leavesmove like the waves behind them movethe unseen the nothing the absencelike my mutt-doog snapping at a fly he sees by its heat, but I cannotjust before he turns the hallwaycorner and lays his fourthturd of the day gingerly between his dogfruit on the plush stain resistant whatis seen is the movement whatis unseen is the workthe hours of preparatory easel-tediumor the muzzle pressedto the bottom of Joker’sdish the unforgivable unrepentantthief that shares bed couch toiletwater and the dailymovements of life pressingskywardas if to say I have no complaintsabout white bristle fur on blackdress socks this wool tormentthis sea thismoment this treeI mark as mineis no catalpa those growon the east coastand the tree in this paintingwith which I have no complaintsis not mine noris it wanted—the hurricane of claw trunk and aerial greenpom pomsthe denizens of new lagunacomplainblock the view from their stilt-leggedseaside properties.
Love it man!
The sun is setting to the westDiffusing light that is soft, still warmThe tide pauses before recedinginto the stippled sky-horizonThe wind nudges the leavesand kisses the yellow-gold groundAnd what of the eucalyptus treedoes it wait and watch the sea?