Saturday, August 23, 2008

August Poetry Postcard Fest, continued (Aug 13-16)

August 13, 2008

In my bag of peaches,
a bonus. A beetle hitchhiked
from orchard to basket,
car to kitchen counter. I don't
have the heart to squash
his shiny carapace.
At the price of gas,
I refuse to drive him back.

August 14, 2008

Osprey spiral above restless
water, wings spin vortices
of air. Everything turns.
Tomatoes, peaches, morning
glories track sunlit footprints
across the sky. Moon
winks its owl eye
surprised he has stayed awake
far past his bedtime.

August 15, 2008


After the summer people migrate
the swans unpack, fold
wings away, settle
old arguments, meet the new
offspring. The mute swans
still refuse to speak
to the other side of the family.

August 16, 2008

Ice House

The last osprey screams
hungry frustration, flees
its comfortable perch.
The adults followed
the first full moon
of Indian Summer, abandoning
their fledgling to instinct
and luck. By the time
spume freezes on the bay
we will be long gone too.


  1. there is a feeling of movement in each... some are transported,, while the others taken hostage... very interesting over all perspective....

  2. Being around the Bay, I always get the sense of movement, as if I can feel the sweep of all that water across the globe of earth. Thank you for your kind comments, paisley.