Lost on the Bayou

Deep in the shadows
Green lights play
Will o' the wisp
At the close of day
Black licorice trunks of
Bald cypress decay
Drifting ghost mists
Dance and sway

Spanish moss drips
On dryer ground
From mighty oaks
Where mint is found
Near beds of moss;
Drops of blood
Flower from green;
Soft underfoot

Rich is the air
With the smell of loam
In the place that
Lichens call their home
Thoughts become tangled
As mangrove roots
Flowers hang from
Extended shoots

Honeysuckle, sickening sweet
Drifts in humid August heat

Alligators swim
Beneath and through
Black water brackish
Along the bayou
Mosquitoes hum
With dragonflies
Wings like drums
Of voodoo rites

See the spider
Drop from his thread
Spinning silk
Building his web
Over pools of
Soft quicksand
As water ripples
With moccasins

Here the serpent
Is king on a throne
Wherever he slithers
He finds a home
Hawks scream warning
Too late to turn back
Lost where waters
Are cool and black

Deep in the shadows
Green lights drown
Black waters rise
To drink them down
With souls of the lost
Until skies turn blue
As red-throated loons
Sing in the bayou

Water, Blood and the Sea

There was water and sound
In the womb
Motion and warmth inside

There is life and salt
In the ocean
Endless flow of wave and tide

There was a rush of blood
In our birth
Forced into the cold and light

Whitecaps push onto the shore
In a hush
Washing sand cool and white

The coral seems umbilical
On the floor
Of the throbbing sea

Resting upon the bed of earth
With the urchin
And the anemone

In the vast pulse of the spherical
World it flows
Blood in the heart of humanity

And there all is as it should be
Salt and life
Water, blood and the sea

Harvest Prayer

Blankets of fog rest softly on corn
Caressing brown tassels in early light
A soft mist kisses the cheeks of morning
And soothes the soul with ethereal white

Across the field, shadows of trees
Stand silhouette like guards of dawn;
Soldiers silent in corridors eastern
Await the king in castles of the sun

He burns in glory just below the horizon
Sending forth rays into velvet sky
Pulling quilts from the beds of his children
As they raise their green sleeves high

The palaces glow in rosy reflection
Clouds crown the day with a wreath
Then golden laurels in every direction
And every honor the sun can bequeath

Waking stalks rustle quietly in prayer
Their striated leaves like a chorus
Whispering hope to the farmer where
He stands listening for their voices

In Davy Jones' Locker

Beneath the crushing weight
Of waves and endless tides
Below the blue, into the night
A pirate ship with treasure hides

Coins of gold and precious jewels
Upon the bottom rest
Where Davy Jones laughs at fools
Who seek his treasure chest

In life, he was a simple man;
A sailor by his trade
Since, the captain has been damned
For prideful boasts he made

He went sailing round the Cape
With lockers full of plunder
And dared that God or stormy sea
Should ever take him under

Between Agulhas and The Point
At a place they call "Good Hope"
There arose a mighty storm
No mortal man could cope

For all the skipper's daring talk
And deals made with the devil
It was God's plank he had to walk
And there befell him evil

For such a wicked wave arose
And swept the open deck
It pulled the hull and sails below
Until the ship was wrecked

Then to the bottom of the sea
Went Davy with his crew
And true believers they will be
Who round the Cape anew

Crags are washing in the churn
And jagged boulders bare
Near here the sea took Davy Jones
But no man can say where

But if you look for pirate's gold
Or adventure, seek your measure
Take warning in the tale that's told
Of Davy and his treasure

Soldiers

Soldiers. soldiers
Where are you bound
And what are you going to do
With those hand grenades and bayonet blades?
Where are you marching to?

Soldiers , soldiers
Where have you been
Have you conquered another hill?
When explosions cease, will you find peace
Or will you be soldiers still?

Sunset Wine

Evening wears like five o'clock shadows;
grizzled grey gruff beneath wrinkled brow.
Every memory, taunting and hollow
except for black and white pictures now.
There is the man in the felt fedora,
smoking his smelly old Cuban cigar.
Back bent low as he rests on elbows
over his whiskey in a seaside bar
The restaurant air, heavy and greasy;
Scallops and shrimp and oyster stew
While ocean waves wash slow and easy
primordial sands with strains of blue
Piano tunes play from hazy poolrooms
Ivory notes that are filled with soul
A leather-jacketed man chalks his cue
Jazz of Count Basie and Nat King Cole
Will we fall in love only
to find it regrettable?
Shall I remain; a sweet refrain...
Unforgettable?
The night wears on in trails of blue
Cigarette smoke fills the seaside bar
Rolling like dark Mississippi bayous
As Muddy Waters plays his guitar
Girls hike up their shining skirts
Flash of flesh as they dance and grind
Buying their whiskey never hurts
Knowing the thing on every man's mind
Night goes flying in raucous laughter
Only to settle on spilling rim
Where the drink is drunk; sedated after
In quiet corners where light is dim
To be certain there will be
A morning after;
a dull accounting of distant sin
But tonight we are free
From parish and pastor
To swim in the sea or bathtub gin
Ragweed smell in restaurant lot
Tells of lovers parked in the night
Windows rolled up and smoking pot
Away from others and safe from sight
And all the while we hear the band;
Blues and Jazz of a thousand nights
Black cat bone, Hoochie Coochie Man
In waves reflecting colored lights
Out on the sea the moon shines alone
Drinking the ocean; salty with brine
Pulling her skirts and shuffling on
Until all is forgotten in sunset wine

Postcard

Inside a secondhand copy
Of The Old Man and the Sea
Is a gray postcard from Paris
Addressed from you to me
The month of May, three years ago
Not much to say, how could we know
Eight months later you would be gone
Now, I lay in my bed alone
Thinking how such a thing can be
When here are words you've written me
And so much more they seem to say
"I saw the Eiffel Tower Today."
The postage stamp, La Seine, Paris
Inside the Old Man and the Sea
Between the pages of Hemingway
In a faded copy of equal gray
Copyrighted in nineteen fifty-two
I have a postcard sent from you
"I've thought of you often"
And here, I smile
And dry a tear after awhile
To close the book with a tacit wish
Where the old man battles his mighty fish
And I silently struggle with what to do
With a postcard from Paris
And memories of you