Ogle

After the afternoon shift have departed

The serious bathers set up shop

Books

With sufficient words

To last

The all of summer

Enough bare skin to captivate

The most discerning of lookers on

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Marinha

Scents of the sea

Sun soaked and shaded respite

Symphonies of waves, lovers at play

A nation, in conversation, within itself

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Noise

Rework

Old sores poured over

Pavements lined with leaves

Perhaps the laburnum family

I kick my feet

On the surface of the pool

Create waved reflections

Of the open blue sky

Ever to have such certainty

That the angle grinder

Would surely have to grind

That as workmen, we work

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Sound Sea

As if the sound of Cadmium Red

Amid the drone of Shostakovich

Would improve the reflection

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Set to Landscape

On this line, plunge into cold water

Roll back the excesses of yesterday

Be refreshed by a word; zest. Pen

Pressed against the ultra fine paper

Pathways through art & love & you

Tokens prescribed beneath the pines

In the hold of the breeze. In the hold

Of a need for a slight definite distance

As if the footsteps on the sands are the

Only waves that can break our hearts

This poem is from the collection