Deliberately
Destin
May 3, 2021
Foggy Bottom Thoughts
a Mexican fog reaches the pan handle
unannounced and unexpected so soon,
visibility dims north of the horizon
pleasure yachts lumber along parallel
to the tourist laden coastline where
motorized vehicles are banned except
for those paid to guard their investments;
a curious and consistent breeze makes its
way eastward as clouds are pushed out
to sea by an undressing sun whose
behavior has become rather predictable along
the shores never invaded by pirates only
conquistadors mesmerized by the language
and mysterious stories of alien ghosts;
muted sounds of silence are replaced by
babbling conversations of clothes styles and lifestyles
exaggerated by marketing executives who rely
on sixties music to attract an older generation
with retirement income mimicking salaries and
desire to travel is limited by pandemics;
children with body boards ignore their
elders and their body surfing techniques as
caution inhibits their watery adventures...
canvas covered wooden chairs hold the
onlookers without motivation yet have the will
power to lift cocktails to their lips between words;
moods like the weather change rapidly
and once a polite generation turns impolite
with their impatience and predeterminations
of religious preferences never questioned or
doubted against the tides of growing evidence
venturing into the unchartered living waters;
however flimsy their excuses these same believers
strong along the edge of the enchanted waters,
invited our of their chairs and into the sun to
worship anticipated suntans yet to be received...
seagulls fly against the wind as they watch
and wonder why everyone is still here.
Mental Shorelines
red flags dot the shoreline
warning wave watchers,
impending danger looms,
wet sand footprints mask
all well worn paths
through weathered dunes,
tracing ancient journeys
of our memorable past;
relocated water pools,
wind rippled movements
large and small
short and tall
under umbrellas
protecting who?
or what?
distilled thoughts
resurfaced and lingering
near and far
buried alive in a
vain attempt to forget
present and past
warriors who first arrived
and left no signs
of smuggling inside
random thoughts;
curious memories filter
themselves through
uncertain recollections
before the dawn
and after sunset,
cascading in shallow pools
of incriminations...
selfless but personal
instinctive but logical,
pursuing the water's truth
and the shoreline's defenses;
seagulls stroll by
on thin legs
supporting large bodies
leaving one in awe,
readjusting opinions
and the flavors of ideas
soon to be forgotten
by the relentless sun
and battering waters
of the gulf
against our bodies.
Watery Wasteland
fingers of time hold not the
water nor the sand any longer
than a wisp of wind remains
around a body as it passes
on its way to another place;
broken shells collected along
the sand dunes of an abandoned
beach long after the water tides
have pushed them well beyond
their original intent...
without recourse or remorse
but with a force long since
believed to be used by the
boats of gods who journeyed
here not to fish or plant crops
but to create a race of future
inhabitants whose sole purpose
was to remember and record
display and deliver
arrange and rearrange
the sequences of life left
behind by life's fingers.
Tides
tides move in and out
back and forth
up and down
but never do they move
out and about...
tides rip out the souls
of man's fearfulness
as it strips the
weak from the strong...
tides force generations
to rethink their
reckless attitudes left
in rented rooms
in the summer sun...
tides are not restrained
nor embarrassed
nor ashamed
of their appearance and
their rituals of death...
tides live along coastlines
of our imported cities,
waiting for us to
forget our manners
and pay them a visit.
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