Three Poems

Magnolia Morning

Magnolia leaves,

Brittle as hammered copper,

Light as starched silk,

Inert on the asphalt.

Like small platters on edge,

Odd tents tilted,

Or rusty boats beached.

Then in a moment of blustery breeze

Leaves swirl into a dance

Skittering and careening

Like wild skaters.

Their rattly metallic  commotion

Breaks the morning silence

Briefly.

Then, like actors at the end of a scene,

Or children playing freeze tag,

They take their random places

And simply wait.

 

Little Red Horns

In protected shadows

Under low limbs of a cherry tree

Mysterious flowers open.

Clusters of horn shaped blooms

Atop tall stalks.

I can almost hear the little red horns

Playing some plaintive tune.

Maybe “O Danny Boy,”

Or their own tune it could be,

Something sweet and simple

And bright.

Just like them.

Apalachicola Sunrise

Seashell pink, lavender, and faintest green

Reflected in the river,

A rippled moving wash,

An artist’s liquid palette

Edged by distant line of marsh grass.

From Caroline’s while eating

Grits and shrimp and eggs,

We watch early boats ply past.

Scattering sunrise waves.

Silent dark birds swoop

For morning morsels.

Noisy seagulls, clad in perfect tuxes,

Circle boardwalks, light on pilings, follow the boats.

The river is quiet again until

A simple craft hums into view.

Six fishermen heading out to sea.

We hear a faint drift of voices from men whose

Reels stand about them ready for bait.

Out towards the bay, beyond the bridge’s arch,

The day opens blue and bright.