Storms on the central coast, 2017
I
Beneath the lamplight
Our feet pressed warm
In old socks
With time stretched long
Us full, with our repeated words
Repeated laughter
We giggled memories and are
Displaying the pulled back
Layers of our lives
Toe nails revealed
Cresting through frayed threads
Our songs light the hearth
Where the cats are holding conference
Before the roasted embers
II
These nights glow
Fogged pane between ourselves
And the dark cold
Your fingers pressed
Among pages and leaves
Holding them in place
We glance out through
The black glass
Meet the eyes of our dim reflections
Faintly painted by the flickering
Inside we are warm
Held by the home we built
Whose walls are still strong
Against the howling shade
Del Monte Beach
Here, I say, that shade
Sprawled live between sprayed sea
Deep rumbling over sand pressed
Under my nails
Cool slaking grains
Quivering dim distant street lights
Are poked stars breaking through
A velvet screen
Cool pulsating thunder a foam
Sweet running up my toes
There is not a place, but a time
There, they say, the hot sun
Is beautiful, opening, uncovering
Where the light
Forces some kind of unveiling
The crashing now a post card
A thing to be enjoyed
But leaving my skin still thirsty
Penel Alden is the pen-name of a mediocre and degenerate academic living on the central coast. Her recent poetry can be found in POSTblank.
I
Beneath the lamplight
Our feet pressed warm
In old socks
With time stretched long
Us full, with our repeated words
Repeated laughter
We giggled memories and are
Displaying the pulled back
Layers of our lives
Toe nails revealed
Cresting through frayed threads
Our songs light the hearth
Where the cats are holding conference
Before the roasted embers
II
These nights glow
Fogged pane between ourselves
And the dark cold
Your fingers pressed
Among pages and leaves
Holding them in place
We glance out through
The black glass
Meet the eyes of our dim reflections
Faintly painted by the flickering
Inside we are warm
Held by the home we built
Whose walls are still strong
Against the howling shade
Del Monte Beach
Here, I say, that shade
Sprawled live between sprayed sea
Deep rumbling over sand pressed
Under my nails
Cool slaking grains
Quivering dim distant street lights
Are poked stars breaking through
A velvet screen
Cool pulsating thunder a foam
Sweet running up my toes
There is not a place, but a time
There, they say, the hot sun
Is beautiful, opening, uncovering
Where the light
Forces some kind of unveiling
The crashing now a post card
A thing to be enjoyed
But leaving my skin still thirsty
Penel Alden is the pen-name of a mediocre and degenerate academic living on the central coast. Her recent poetry can be found in POSTblank.