Tenacity
Pounding tangles of storm-propelled driftwood,
freak tsunami tides move assaulted shore inland.
Salty mists, winter winds sculpt ancient cypress
into stunted, twisted bonsai survivors.
Carmel River reroutes each spring, cuts a new channel.
Lagoon waters rise and fall. Sand bars spread, then diminish.
Stone headlands devolve into tumbles of boulders,
relentless surf forever grinding broken granite to crystals.
The calm surge of incoming spindrift can be deceptive.
It takes deep roots to avoid being swept away every winter.
Mirage
Mist erases shoreline Victorian houses,
paints the sky white, hovers just above
orange buoys, anchored sailboats,
harbor seals as they sleep
on dry rocks near Monterey harbor.
Gulls patrol breakwater and retaining wall.
Squirrels avoid falling drizzle, hide
from the chill deep within their warm burrows.
Dampness transforms a dispirited
palm tree into sodden umbrella.
Stoic cypress strain passing fog
through wind-pretzeled limbs.
Errant wisps smudge my silhouette
as I explore land’s end, navigate
a stone jumble jutting into slack ocean.
Naked Ladies
A pink nudist colony thrives among ice plant,
above the bay in America’s last home town.
Naked ladies, like garish flamingos, astonish
the eye, punches of color along a dirt trail.
Flushed lilies encircle plateaus of adobe,
Maenads erotically dancing with wind.
Heavy headed trumpets bob and sway,
communally cluster from each leafless stem.
Inviting blooms seduce passing hummingbirds.
Whirring aerialists hover and feed.
Jennifer Lagier’s seven books are: Coyote Dream Cantos, Where We Grew Up, Second-Class Citizen, The Mangia Syndrome, Fishing for Portents, Agent Provocateur, and Hookup With Chinaski. She is a retired college librarian/instructor, member of the Italian American Writers Association, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, Rockford Writers Guild and helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings.
Next:
Pounding tangles of storm-propelled driftwood,
freak tsunami tides move assaulted shore inland.
Salty mists, winter winds sculpt ancient cypress
into stunted, twisted bonsai survivors.
Carmel River reroutes each spring, cuts a new channel.
Lagoon waters rise and fall. Sand bars spread, then diminish.
Stone headlands devolve into tumbles of boulders,
relentless surf forever grinding broken granite to crystals.
The calm surge of incoming spindrift can be deceptive.
It takes deep roots to avoid being swept away every winter.
Mirage
Mist erases shoreline Victorian houses,
paints the sky white, hovers just above
orange buoys, anchored sailboats,
harbor seals as they sleep
on dry rocks near Monterey harbor.
Gulls patrol breakwater and retaining wall.
Squirrels avoid falling drizzle, hide
from the chill deep within their warm burrows.
Dampness transforms a dispirited
palm tree into sodden umbrella.
Stoic cypress strain passing fog
through wind-pretzeled limbs.
Errant wisps smudge my silhouette
as I explore land’s end, navigate
a stone jumble jutting into slack ocean.
Naked Ladies
A pink nudist colony thrives among ice plant,
above the bay in America’s last home town.
Naked ladies, like garish flamingos, astonish
the eye, punches of color along a dirt trail.
Flushed lilies encircle plateaus of adobe,
Maenads erotically dancing with wind.
Heavy headed trumpets bob and sway,
communally cluster from each leafless stem.
Inviting blooms seduce passing hummingbirds.
Whirring aerialists hover and feed.
Jennifer Lagier’s seven books are: Coyote Dream Cantos, Where We Grew Up, Second-Class Citizen, The Mangia Syndrome, Fishing for Portents, Agent Provocateur, and Hookup With Chinaski. She is a retired college librarian/instructor, member of the Italian American Writers Association, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, Rockford Writers Guild and helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings.
Next: