Old door
To old shop
Four times closed
With two locks
Promised return
on three clocks
florida
Flounder Fishing Along an Intracoastal Beach in Vilano
In the spring, at the west end of Third Street
Before the outgoing tide slackens
And the sun reaches sky back behind you
You may see one or few aging fishermen
Scurry like sand crabs
Round the rocks
And under the docks
At water’s edge along the slim beach.
Some will zigzag north toward Fifth
And others south toward the marshland
Each according to starting point or inclination
And each directed by a guarded mental map
Drawn from distinct experiences
Including such notations as
When to pause
And where to cast
And how many times
Into the shallow waters before dashing on.
They hunt, of course, the flounder that
Lie in wait for prey of their own.
Of Men and Sailboats
Behind Nix Boatyard and up Oyster Creek, across from the southeast corner of Creekside Restaurant’s dirt parking lot, past the wood pile, through the trees, and over the damaged docks lining the creek on this bank, clean over to the landing on the creek’s far side, you will see, should you choose to look in that direction upon exiting your vehicle, the two-masted schooner, Resilience out of Rhode Island. Under repair by its owners after being battered in October’s hurricane, Resilience will not set a northward course home for at least one more month. However, you might predict – and more than one seaman has already agreed – that, once she is under full sail, she promises to be one of the most beautiful sights afloat. Furthermore, you may, however briefly, be filled with calming courage and a spirit of adventure, and square your shoulders with casual confidence and determination as you stride toward your appointment for dinner.
The Call
The old man saw first that the nearest boat was for sale, even through the confines of his camera’s viewfinder, even through the fog, even through the sunless grey of early dawn. And, though he was of insufficient funds, and of strength (and of remaining time), he struggled to make out the contact number.
A Morning in the Hand
Seduced by the promise of a rising sun in the east,
The brief pastel, mist-clothed morning eluded her.
Unexpected Guests
Mathew and his sister, Sea
Sailed up the coast to visit me.
Why Some Captains Moor by Castillo on Weekends
Below the ramparts there the canon will belch fire,
And thunderous blasts bellow across the bay.
Black powder clouds will swirl in blue sky,
And perfume a passing breeze with adventure.
Indian War Dead at St Augustine National Cemetery
As the sun rises over these pyramids,
Does it warm the fourteen hundred below
And rouse them from their collective sleep?
Crowded there, do some still swap tales of the Seminole
And debate the merits of their cause?
Do some bow their heads in prayer? Do some weep?
First Stanza
The Jubilee approached St. Augustine Inlet
In the calm-watered, first light of the morning.
Unknown to her captain, three leagues east
An exceedingly strong storm was forming.
City Gates
The gates of St Augustine are open, letting everyone in.
They welcome the Kansans, Hawaiians, and Mississippians.
They welcome big bellies, and those who spend time at the gym,
As well as the pious and those who can’t shake some great sin.
But, they all pray for epiphany before they head home once again.
Vilano Images 