Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #6

 A Passing Sailboat

fathers and mothers gather

in close proximity

to their children...  who,

challenge the sand

to get the best of them,

darting back and forth

from water to chairs where

the sun leaves no shadows,

the water kisses the shoreline

molding itself against sand,

flapping umbrellas wave

to the walkers, the runners

and the cyclists passing by

sometimes stopping for water,

nodding to the observant

parents before moving on

dodging children in their way,

soft sand trenches of footprints

guides the way - north or south,

seagulls fly both ways too,

copters struggling against the

prevailing currents that seem

to push sailboats along with

friendly gusts of wind...

a passing sailboat catches

it all, tacking parallel to the

tourists littering the beach.

September 16, 2025  

Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #5

The Easterner

facing south

under an umbrella

slanted west

a senior citizen sits,

with no aspirations

or illusions

this trip might just

be the last one...

memories flood his

consciousness,

of times years ago

and those sooner,

details fuzzy

sometimes wrong as

the thoughts haunt

and tantalize,

young4er generations

play around him,

kicking sand into

feeble awarenesses

feeding his stubborn

nature of alienation,

wondering if he will

stay alive long enough

to show his anger.

September 16, 2025

Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #4

 Late Arrivals

characteristically untiring

waves roll up shorelines

for most than just eons,

ever since land could be seen

walking today on the sand

ancients walked more than

a millennia ago...  like those

who walked a millennia

ago before them...

traditions create traditions

water from across the world

arrives on this shore as water

from here finds its way there,

replenishing what evaporates.

currents move the sands as

does hurricanes and winter

tides wash up broken shells

for sand walking collectors.

some fish their shores to

feed their growing populations

ships traverse the watery

highways seeking conquest,

taking possessions with them

as the sea retaliates, taking

what belongs not to anyone,

hulls, skeletons, and bones

litter the ocean's bottom - a

reminder that mankind was

not the first to arrive here.

September 15, 2025

Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #3

First Timers

a dark blue horizon line

arcs north to south

seemingly appears straight

separating water from sky

a faded light blue chambray

ugly army green water

washing up along the shore

sea gulls riding swells

sunning as they relax - wings 

that flapped a million times,

a fixture of the salty life

apart from the sand between toes,

undistinguishable are the clouds

washing across the blue sky

one and the same appearing,

polarizing lenses alter reality

in a piece meal fashion,

making whites look whiter

in the foam preceding water,

disappearing into wet sand

permitting only photographic

memories taken away by

all those novice first timers.

September 15, 2025

Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #2

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Myrtle Beach 2025 Series #1

Beach Time

army green saltwater flows
with white caps nor easterly
into Carolina's shoreline,
menacing undercurrents move
unseen objects along, changing
those who play in its waters;
white trimmed umbrellas dot
the coastline as tourists from
east and west - north and south
assault these beaches every summer,
an invasion of those who dream
for something different from
where they have been living,
searching for that which has
been hiding inside them all along,
attitudes they bring with them
adjustments they attempt to unleash,
poisonous influences not realized,
only time can disrupt them
being as precious as it is, not to
ignore...  and yet...  it is time
that always wins us over now.

September 15, 2025

Discriminating Tastes

curtains cover the sliding window
ocean view and balcony
sunshine streams inside without
resistance counterbalancing
the night's instinctive coolness,
second floor rooms or higher
offer spectacular views with
rail with rails on which wet
clothes hang to dry...
cappuccino coffee steams in
hand-held mugs rest of tables,
on the flat screen monitor, a
news programs blast out,
smells of eggs and bacon
filter throughout the room,
pills in their containers wait
patiently to be swallowed,
views out the sliding window
a sliding calm ocean approach
relentlessly towards the shore,
bringing out the strollers and
rollers along the hard sand,
chairs and umbrellas in rows
like a military parade pose
as sentinels, under which
tourists sit to read and observe.

September 19, 2025

Torture Room

inside the vase a light shines
not a reflection or a candle nor
a light behind pushing through,
a bulb inside a fixture stands,
green glow illuminating
out into the darkness wherein
we are present and alert,
on a table this green vase sits
put there by a stranger who
knew not what our tastes were,
put there to provide light
in the dark of night when
most people were sleeping,,,
beside the table, a lamp stands
six feet up from its base,
a round weighted object that
is unattracted when viewed,
a white shade and bulb inside,
offering more illumination
that the green vase beside
home lives inside us all
despite our current lodgings
yet we strive for similarities
in our current environments,
success not observed when
lights are extinguished and we
we rest of eyes and bodies
in strange bedroom designs
where night lights are not
permissible once the sun
discloses its abandonment.

September 18, 2025

False Flags

down and dirty
meek and mild
we, the people
respond, react,
return to that
which is known,
that which is
seen and that
which is heard,
profoundly
repeating that
which cannot
be undone...
sadly sick she
has become
this nation,
who built its
fortune on the
backs of those
who love their
freedoms now.

September 18, 2025

Our Virtual Morning

hazy morning hiding sun
thick white cumulus
blue at apex showing
small waves roll inward
ocean's lake appearing
reflections off the rail
penetrate the room
curtain drawn compensating,
horizon line lost
no difference from the sky,
waves appearing suddenly
seemingly out of nowhere,
no birds flying anywhere
no rain in sight today,
curtains of a misty morning
hiding our gaze out 
into the gray whiteness
of the day ahead...
a black fin penetrates
the ocean's flatness like
a plate on a table,
gliding across easily
a knife cutting through cake,
we assimilate if we can
sitting under virtual umbrellas.

September 17, 2025

Horizon of Life

beyond the horizon lies the end

the end represents the beginning
of what's living on the other side,
adjustments needed to be made,
sad but always true when seen,
aliens hide behind the uncertainty
of the moment and the horizon
that constantly moves outward,
beyond the moment, time binds 
past and present into a cruel
singularity that fuels holes both
black and white, distinguishing
one from the other through its
age of expansion and elements
created by the small particles.
beyond this horizon time lingers
as it travels back and forth
up and down in ways that will
boggle the mind when heard or
seen as it loses sight of what
it is supposed to protect and
maintain...  we delve into our
obsession with the unknown,
clarifying what it is there once
reaching the horizon of life.

September 16, 2025

Day's End

in the west it sets at 
the end of each day,
morning began long ago
before the sun could shine,
waves of the night
bring darkness forward, l
shadows hide in the
corners of our minds
we vouch for ourselves
without denying...
darkness below
light above, the sun
has left the scene,
we regret our natures
save the moments
we understand that
truth is illusive...
moments crow in our
ears like coaches barking
out orders to players,
night falls to the ground
a curtain closing and
we wonder if the day
will ever return again.

September 15, 2025

Death Becomes Us All

born we are without consent
living lives of turmoil and dissent
freedom dwells in all of us
whether we respect it or not...
hallucinogenic minds warp
the years we have been given
putting nothing into perspective,
not wars in foreign lands nor
disturbances here at home...
day to day we live
no future planning required
someone will take care of us
it is just a matter of time...
wealth stokes the furnace of
growth in all directions,
marginal people pay the bills
the poor do absolutely nothing,
cats and dogs run freely around
the town squares of the south,
while militaries guard the violence
making sure it stays in one hand,
street people die of hunger
obesity about to explode,
rumors of rumors of rumors
rampant on the wires
across the globe and beyond,
terror begets terrorism and we
hide behind our beliefs, all of us
knowing that one day
death will become us all.

September 11, 2025

Morning Observations

Kaaa...  Kaaa...  Kaaa...
Areca...  Aureeca...  Areca...
sounds or phrases?
one knows not - just listen
to the morning, light through
the trees shine - cats prowl,
again, the sounds
warnings of flight fancies
Kaaa...  Areca...  Kaaa...
extended branches hanging over
weight of the leaves or what?
Areca...  Areca...  Kaaa...
forbideen interludes resound
in the backyard around the
wall of trees and bushes
with rotten, decaying trunks
amid a barbed wire fence 
on which rodents sit patiently
waiting for their turn to play.
off to another distant tree
a few birds migrate
minimizing their annoyances,
blinding reflections, adjusting seats
the yard still home to all these
creatures - large and small,
accents on the sounds differ
before and after heard with
unsubstantiated clarity, I speak
while in the distance remain
focused on my observations.

September 10, 2025

Birth Cycle Creation

holes of a dark nature juxtaposed

with those referred to as white,

sucking in or thrashing out,

bending and reshaping its fabric

not really expanding its time...

cruel thoughts cling to the notion

we are but simple objects in space

without destiny or purpose, just

hurled about with chaotic randomness,

presupposed to remain in place

until new places are determined,

bathed in cosmic space dust

giving us consciousness sentience

that wraps itself around knowledge

like the particles accepted or rejected

when dark holes pass to white ones 

new universes are created, not born.

September 9, 2025

Cosmic Sandbox

random thoughts like the randomness of spacetime
float through my mind as if it too were a void...
random thoughts that mix and stir...
combine and separate with the precision of a chef
as mental cuisines are prepared on which to feast,
entertaining what could or will be rather than
what is or is not currently going on...
mental tapestries of hope and despair
forged like power rings into dominant action
written down but no action taken...
journeys through underground tunnels
a metaphor for cosmic gravitational waves
permeating the continuum of our universe,
not a watchdog but as a participant whose
activities are contingent upon its warping,
subsequent re-alignment and singularities,
Previous millennia and eons have passed by
leaving us absorbed, wrapped in afterbirth, not
caring if our lives revolve inside a solar system
or a galaxy, or if we exist in this universe, or
another one that is not that different...
As perplexing as it seems, it is also irrelevant,
correlated with all that has come before, we are
destined to repeat history in such a way that
Our destiny is just a grain of life's sand
and the box in which we play with life daily.

September 9, 2025

Silver Strings

chills run down the sides of my body

currents of wind slash at my face,

fingers tips numb at the expression

that summer is over at last...

coffee blackened by the beans

slides down my throat surreptitiously

muscles tighten around the heat,

nature lives on the blind side of life

and the reason for so much strife,

silver threads float through the air

on their way to some mystic lands

beckon me to follow them when

breakfast dishes are put away...

a solo pilot navigates his ship past

all the surface garbage of life only

to find his air space crowded and

clouded by these silver strings

guiding him off into the horizon.

September 8, 2025

Madness Trapper

a gentle madness wash over me
defecating birds in gardens flee
a triumphant blow to the ego felt
when insanity does become me,
ancient mariners brought me here
to this land of the unencumbered
where south side moss only grows
and wild eggs fried on flat rocks,
swamps slither around like snakes,
in the muck, mire, and mildew...
behind the eyes live the crimes of
one thousand souls or more,
each one mourning the death of
the others as if no recourse exists,
save the one I alone offer them,
when given to me the sins of
their forefathers and families.
not a saint or the devil am I but
rest assured no friend of yours,
my delusions are my own and
the fit very well on me...  I am
the one who steals from you so
you can live a life of blessedness.

September 6, 2025

Broken Rings

cat tree in the corner lives permanently
two rockers on one side
a couch on the other - made of wicker
but not for the wicker man...
this time eleven windows form walls
along with two doors for security
we strive to be safe these days...
shades block out light unwanted
fans distribute the heat and cold.
a cave in which we live is not a home,
shelter needed when shelter can,
volumes of hope lay in trashcans
along with the daily news,
swords of imagination clash against
the seldom offered truth, struggling
to break free from its masters...
terror is as it does - does what it wants
domestic is only a euphemism
planted like hearing aids to circumvent
the approaches the surround us like
like the keeps of the broken rings.

September 6, 2025 

Hunting the Hunters

praise goes to the ones who survived

soldiers returning home from battle

divorces who decide to remarry

cancer patients living beyond goals

children born in the heart of Africa

the wealthy who look down their noses

politicians who lie like defecations

birds who fall out of the nests

hunters not having time to reload

crabs not put into the boiling pots

clergy who has lost their beliefs

mothers who give up their children

addicts who kick instead of die

all the bombs never exploded

criminals never brought to justice

proponents of trickle-down economics

feet painters without the use of arms

blind singers who love inspirationals

Deaf artists who never walk alone

trees never cut down for houses

parks never turned into condos

we the people that never were we

and those who are always forgotten.

September 4, 2025

Night Dreams

rain blew in last night during
our slumber time,
unnoticed and unmanaged,
it flooded the minds of
the elderly to the point
they knew not who they were
in the morning light...
proposed changes were made
implemented and etched in
stone tablets like Moses...
living water ran down through
the streets of forgetfulness
blending past with present,
present with future, eliminating
speculative investing at
its very points of origin...
crusaders lined up around corners
beg for the days of old when
first knight had rights and
women were never scorned,
rain poured through holes
the heads could not fill in time,
short-circuited that thoughts
leaving desperation it its wake.

September 4, 2025

Days of Ole

dreary and dismal is the day
arriving after yesterday
when all was as expected,
hours pass by too quickly to
be noticed fully and when
observed offer very little
in emotional comforts...
they whittle away at themselves
like carving a face in wood
for children's play and
nothing more when life used
to be just that simple...
they flow one right after the
other as they should, never
out of place are they seen,
since no one would know
exactly what to do if they were,
arranged unchronological,
they serve us well when working
or relaxing by the shore but
when there is nothing to do,
they are boring and immature,
they feed on our frailties
instead of the qualities that
made them what they were,
now just a bunch of minutes
and hours bundled together
because it is so much cheaper.

September 2, 2025

Beyond Time's Boundaries

time mourns innocence lost
a crisis in aging felt,
the non-reciprocating agreement
leading us into a neverland fantasy
with or without our shoes,
or best buddies by our sides...
cringing at all the terms
to which we did not agree,
sight...  hearing...  mobility...
physical dependance upon those
for whom we once cared,
more of a burden now than help,
fashionable clothes sitting in the closet
waiting for the funeral that
never seems to arrive in time...
dogged persistence keeps us alive
beyond the threshold of sanity
hummingbirds laugh at our presence
attempting to capture their vitality,
ageless thoughts flow through filters
positioned by the mind's defenses,
allowing in the relevant ones...
hiding all the others...  until...
time has no need to see the past.

September 1, 2025

Watching Over Me

twice a month I get infusions
daily pills do I also take,
count my blessings do I always
no prayers do I ever say...
except once at the beginning
when all was lost, I thought,
giving myself up without regret,
eighteen years my path is fixed
science has kept me alive...
or so it seemed sometimes.
wealth and miracles happen to others
has been my claim to fame...  still,
something in the way I have survived
tells me differently when considering
all this extra amount of time given.
luck is favored by those who prepare
I live my life the way I always do,
not just stepping daily into it nor
putting one foot before the other;
I live my life as if there's no tomorrow
for whatever reason surrounds me
and while my purpose is unknown
something still watches over me.

August 31, 2025

Backyard Solitude

illumination through the trees
there when feet touched
cool deck boards underneath,
faded stain, worn in spots
cracks run horizontal beside
vertical railing, aluminum
strips float freely between the
rails tied with granny knots,
a faded green cat brush with
bent and missing bristles on
the glass table sits aimlessly,
awaiting its owner's arrival,
stillness in the air prevails
soundless flapping of wings
as vacationing birds fly by
with long beaks and tiny bodies
looking for the red containers,
a cloudless pale blue sky serves
a gentle backdrop reminder of
no more sleeping felines...  but
for now, when heads raise, they
merely watch hopping rabbits,
drearily look at lounging owners
giving us the go-ahead permission
to continue with our writings.

August 25, 2025

A Word or Two Written

sun through the umbrella shines
matted pages absorb the light,
black ink scribbles until empty
a sky-blue replacement suffices,
words on the page quickly appear
marked out and replaced before
attempts at editing occur...
readers read not the original but
one with modifications galore
oftentimes changing the meaning
of what was written before.
no claims to fame are there given
nor quick solutions for changing themes,
when smithing of the phrase occurs.
thought retrievals replaced by searches
more efficient engines they assure
robing us of our humanity onto
which we have desperately tried to hold.
sometimes, on this porch I sit when
weather is nice and warm, protected
by this red umbrella when too much
sun finally appears...  oftentimes, my
thoughts I see, many of which, fall
through the decking cracks but some
survive the test of time...  remaining
on the booklet pages when it closes.

August 29, 2025

Seasons Noticed

distant sounds fly by overhead
aircraft engine heard
vehicles rumble down highways
along with eighteen wheelers,
echos heard through walls
chirping birds illuminate
cats scratch for fleas
morning breezes chill,
fall approaches like a snake
through un-mowed grasses sneak
gaps of summer filled in
famously overlooked by age,
gentle reminders trapped
in corner spider webs only
yesterday pulled down by brooms,
drops in temperature and hearty
meals prepared with hesitation
recant these changes while fires
are kept burning and seasons
change without much notice.

August 29, 2025

The Owl and the Dog

plastic owls on porch steps sit
tied down by nylon twine,
a stray dog lifts his leg and urinates
caustic voices scare it away,
birds on branches high in the air
declare civil disobedience
on the owners of the owl...
defecating defiantly on the steps
a war they tweet out, has begun
even though it goes by another name,
mischief and mayhem witnessed
by porch less visitors in a southern
rural town, goes not unnoticed
in the world of public debates,
writers write the story
publishers publish the tale
readers read in a provoking way
want laws to prevent this happening,
city councils meet in closed chambers
remaining hopelessly deadlocked,
taxpayers howl at misuse of money,
local residents have cookouts
after mowing their lawns...
lines were drawn but never crossed
banners were made but never sold
the dog visits the owl regularly
the owners continue to feed him.

August 27, 2025

In the Zone

day glow colors flash
through the night,
sounds of military
down streets walk,
buildings shake as
ground quakes rumble,
fears replace tears
keeping us from slumber,
light reflected in mirrors
shine in our eyes,
blinding our sight
beneficial in hindsight,
not while enduring...
moments become minutes
minutes become hours
hours become days,
living inside a purple haze,
greeters down the bombed-
out streets, walk freely,
announcing their claims
in foreign languages,
behind the walls we wait
light speckles our faces
traumatized and mesmerized
by the fallout of bodies
now seen in the warm sun.

August 27, 2025

The Morning Train

joys of life trickle down

through the years,

moments and episodes

years forming decades,

altering  -  changing

abandoning  -  forfeiting

transcribed events

turned into photos,

scrapbooks of memories

forgotten and shelved,

reminded when moving

teasing delights of youth

middle-aged tortures

life saving tips

wonderous  -  fabulous

part of it all, it is...

listening, loving, disregarding

a life fulfilled, it was

complete and packed away

on a morning train to nowhere

departing ever so quickly

once death takes you away.

August 26, 2025