Five Years After
In a cocoon of fog
one small patch of sunlight
reveals a lone sea otter
who rides the breakers,
drifting up and over
just before the crest.
It feels as if we are the only
two alive at this place
on this day, except
for ghosts in the mist.
Though it’s only September,
waves nearly the height
of winter king tides,
carry their cargo of pebbles
to the scoured shore.
Stone temples remain silent.
…watchful.
Red-tipped sea fig blankets
the entrance to a coastal trail.
A haltering warmth
caresses my right arm.
I review the lesson of 9/11,
accept nothing lasts.
In a cocoon of fog
one small patch of sunlight
reveals a lone sea otter
who rides the breakers,
drifting up and over
just before the crest.
It feels as if we are the only
two alive at this place
on this day, except
for ghosts in the mist.
Though it’s only September,
waves nearly the height
of winter king tides,
carry their cargo of pebbles
to the scoured shore.
Stone temples remain silent.
…watchful.
Red-tipped sea fig blankets
the entrance to a coastal trail.
A haltering warmth
caresses my right arm.
I review the lesson of 9/11,
accept nothing lasts.
Frog Pond Haven
I enter via wooden stairs,
stroll a path framed with
thin willow limbs, hedge nettle,
yellow bugles of oxalis.
Crossing a rocky stream,
I follow neon blue dragonfly,
skirt spring-fed marsh pool.
A plank bridge leads nowhere,
mystery to explore someday.
Within grassland lupine, pearls
of cudweed, tiny scarlet pimpernel
testify to rare rainy season
after four years of drought.
In a shady redwood grove
two benches invite meditation.
Scallop-shell mushrooms
breed in the shape of a heart
over an oak limb scar.
Mallards scull past reedy isles.
At the pond’s edge lime green
algae form liquid impressionist images.
Enchanted within a verdant oasis,
I drop in on an Emerald City that lies
just beyond busy blacktop.
I enter via wooden stairs,
stroll a path framed with
thin willow limbs, hedge nettle,
yellow bugles of oxalis.
Crossing a rocky stream,
I follow neon blue dragonfly,
skirt spring-fed marsh pool.
A plank bridge leads nowhere,
mystery to explore someday.
Within grassland lupine, pearls
of cudweed, tiny scarlet pimpernel
testify to rare rainy season
after four years of drought.
In a shady redwood grove
two benches invite meditation.
Scallop-shell mushrooms
breed in the shape of a heart
over an oak limb scar.
Mallards scull past reedy isles.
At the pond’s edge lime green
algae form liquid impressionist images.
Enchanted within a verdant oasis,
I drop in on an Emerald City that lies
just beyond busy blacktop.
Bring Me The Sunset
In a goblet of sky,
beyond the coming together
of the south mountain range
and forested hills to the north,
my fiery queen of light
descends gradually,
as if tired of burning
so brightly during
long hours of summer.
She gathers in scraps
of clouds saturated
with dust particles,
scatters a thousand hues,
ruby, purple, and tangerine,
shine of Irish tresses,
glimmer in a lover’s eye.
Bring me this treasured time,
kaleidoscope of twilight
never ever the same.
Laura Bayless is the author of four collections of poetry, The Edge of the Nest, White Streams and Touchstones, Persistent Dreams and most recently Chairs in the River. Her poems have appeared in local and national publications, and anthologies, including Porter Gulch Review, The Homestead Review, and Blue Heron. She is co-editor of an award-winning compilation of stories and poems about the Carmel River – Passion for Place. In addition to writing poetry, Laura explores additional creativity through collage and photography.
In a goblet of sky,
beyond the coming together
of the south mountain range
and forested hills to the north,
my fiery queen of light
descends gradually,
as if tired of burning
so brightly during
long hours of summer.
She gathers in scraps
of clouds saturated
with dust particles,
scatters a thousand hues,
ruby, purple, and tangerine,
shine of Irish tresses,
glimmer in a lover’s eye.
Bring me this treasured time,
kaleidoscope of twilight
never ever the same.
Laura Bayless is the author of four collections of poetry, The Edge of the Nest, White Streams and Touchstones, Persistent Dreams and most recently Chairs in the River. Her poems have appeared in local and national publications, and anthologies, including Porter Gulch Review, The Homestead Review, and Blue Heron. She is co-editor of an award-winning compilation of stories and poems about the Carmel River – Passion for Place. In addition to writing poetry, Laura explores additional creativity through collage and photography.