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Thursday, July 25, 2024

Blue Hours on the Shoreline

 —Poetry by Sterling Warner, Union, WA
—Public Domain Visuals Courtesy of Medusa
 
 
SIGHTS, SOUNDS & SKYWALKER JAVA

Coffee steams out of my Darth Vader mugs
rolls down my empty gullet as Quaker oatmeal
comes to a boil on the stove; peering out
my kitchen window, I notice a small herd
of whitetail deer ankle deep in Annas Bay
pensively scanning the Hood Canal

alert ears listen to harbor seals bark,
Canada geese honk, and sea lions grunt.

Pouring a second cup of java, the herd
stood spellbound, observing an orca pod leap
out of water, emitting various pulsed calls,
whistles, and echolocation clicks while waves
lap at their legs, soothing tired, cloven toes
chilling keratin hooves, waiting for ebb tides

to reveal hidden salt flats and oyster beds…
lead to small-island safety where does birth fawns.
 
 
 
 
 
31 FLAVORS REVISITED

Frozen lactose melts
down conical waffle sugar cones
young unwashed fingers squeeze the essence
of a momentary freeze as if corralling stray sheep,
confident broad tongue strokes would curb inertia
chocolate embracing a thawing mass, destined
to decorate diamond match sidewalks
like butter in frying pans
or else trickle down
parched throats
drip ice cream
rivers, refresh
bellies that feel
like furnace
cavities ready
to explode,
shrivel like
beached
jellyfish
in the
sun.
 
 
 
 

FORECASTER FAUX PAS

Weather predictors proclaimed inaugural spring
as buds emerged through tree branches
daffodils sprouted from down below
birds sought dry grass to construct nests.

We washed mold & mildew off our slip ‘n slide
placed peatmoss like a feather mattress
on a stretch of lawn to cushion landings
& increase momentum on the plastic film.

Three days in a row we’d wait till classes ended
hurried home ASAP to begin our ritual exercise
skimming the slick sheet like stones
skipping across waterways…never sinking.

In a week the butterflies, June bugs & buzzing bees
disappeared following a torrential downpour
unexpected, endlessly pelting our water slide
with rain, hail, and a micro blanket of snow….
 
 
 
 

WEEPY WALLPAPER

Interlocking chains hang
from the ceiling molding

to a wooden wainscoting
discolored maroon wallpaper

clung to lathe and plaster
water spot stains revealed

places where rain seeped
through leaky roof shingles.

I stared into the weepy design
imagined its genius from ink

patterns and finish drying
to cutting and packaging

decorative rolls that seamlessly
incorporated mold and mildew marks

into the initial blueprint, placing
water blemishes beyond reproach.
 
 
 
 

JUDICE MISCONSTRUED

A blue hour descended along the shoreline
I hear Judice’s gospel voice whisper, whisper,
whisper

    from on high then shed light far below
    haunting heaven’s pearly gates with academic
    curiosity less anxious to dwell as a spiritual
    entity
than examine the remainder of glacial fjords
watching Washington’s winter snowcaps drool
down mountains, etch irregular patterns.
 
Judice’s misread chill inexplicably melted away
her natural ablation mimicked icy peaks nearby
baptizing promontories, flooding gopher and mole
    burrows on the headlands; patient and kind,
    she never “suffered fools” yet gave me weekly
    chances
to notice her profile in the university theatre lecture
hall
always two seats away on the left; like lost oppor-
tunities
amid frog rain, regret consumes me upon reflection.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Some people walk in the rain. Others just get wet.

—Roger Miller

____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Sterling Warner for today’s fine poetry!
 
Be sure to keep SnakePal Nolcha Fox in your thoughts today, as she undergoes surgery in hopes of relieving her mega-monster migraines. 

 
 
 

 















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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LittleSnake in frog rain