Reflections: White Scorpion

 Deliberately

Destin

May 4, 2021

A Non Purple Haze

a morning haze hangs

in the air,

off in the distance 

seen on both side

of our vision...

swamp like fog

spreading

creeping towards u

like ants

without farms

or hills...

dirty waters dance

along the edge

of life,

white foam appears

then disappears

along the rock-less sand,

and no shells

to be found,

collected or

tossed back into the

blue green

shimmering liquid,

boundless

or so it seems...

help wanted signs

float by with the tide

and nobody's business

is the best of all...

we think

and speculate

deciding for or against

but in our seats

remain like

all our neighbors here,

silent and tending

to their own business

of doing nothing...

the shine comes

and goes,

constant wind perplexes

and on the breeze

seagulls fly

both black and white

they are...

no racism here

along the gulf coast.

Once Young

a low flowing humidity

sifts through fog like

flour into a bowl,

gulf waters persist

with three foot waves

and close proximities

inhibits wave cowboys

who ride it like a religion

with their faiths increasing

each year while bruised

bodies, broken and abused

resist mental influence;

voyeurs sit along the

shoreline with an

endless appetite, wishing

they were again young

and also slim...

even though nothing 

would change as their

imaginations lay dormant

in containers of secrecy

buried in the sand beside

the pirate's stash hidden

quietly oh so long ago.

Water Meets Horizon

concealed in misty fog the

future is at the mercy of

the daily climate changes

in the gulf village here;

no immigrants venture forth here

in boats or trolling vessels,

then attempt to swim ashore,

although drugs float by freely;

along the coastline tourists walk

not enough time to walk at home

or the predisposition to exercise,

in their gated communities;

fishermen cast their lines

females not invited to participate

inclining not to waste their time

but would rather read instead;

cursed by the humidity

beach chairs remain vacant

even those included in rentals

as the sunshine dictates appearance;

rough waves surge inland

hiding the current that directed them

and the angry waters boast of

only one shade of green today.

Imagining

beguiled by emerald waters

we manifest our destiny in

wooden land boats whose only

movement is a sliding back;

imagining ourselves as

Greek mariners navigating the

ancient Mediterranean Sea,

remaining close to the shore

and the security of land;

imagining ourselves as

vintage warriors home from

seemingly endless wars,

nursing our bodies in the

fragrance of sea spray or until

we return to battle a must;

imagining ourselves as

wealthy land owners whose

mansion sits only a short

distance from water's edge

and the location of our chair;

imagining ourselves as

seasonal renters of the condo

in which we currently dwell

and in whose presence we have

lived these last few days;

imagining ourselves as

lost souls who have journeyed

here on the wings of time,

following our own recorded

memories of previous times

spent before we were taken

away to our final afterlife.