Horse Latitudes [Sonnet]

I scoured vast seas in search of wisdom lost.
It happened when they made me walk the plank,
like scuttled wreckage, sunk sans thought of cost,
as I began to rise, my treasure sank.
I bobbed in seas that each way looked the same.
How could I find my way back to that spot
carried by currents dastardly untamed,
and found days later by a ragged yacht.
And so I drift upon the choppy seas,
and hope for winds to steer me on my course,
but mostly there's not even a slight breeze,
and I'm stuck in ghost screams of a dumped horse.

I hope one day to regain my attitude,
but not stuck down in these damned horse latitudes.

Seven Seaside Poems


Wind kicks at her hem.
The skirt flaps and snaps.
White cotton surrendering
to stiff seaside gusts.
A palm shoots to thigh
to bar the immodest scene
of goose-bumped flesh.


A fishing boat chugs through the sound.
Puttering on sputtering engines
–then silence and drift.
A surefooted seamen stands and slings
a net that splays open like pizza dough.
It lands gently on shimmering seas,
and sinks into green-blue waters in slow motion.
Trying to snare an unsuspecting catch.


Snorkelers ride the swells
like drifting corpses.
Legs unkicking
Arms unstroking
Mesmerized by a new world below
Awe expires from tubes,
rising and evaporating in sun-warmed air


Sailboats rock like metronomes–
masts counting out a rhythm,
a planetary pulse


Trudging ashore,
retreating seas pull sand underfoot
He leans into the trudge,
his body-weight barely defeating the sea’s suction.


Red and white lanterns drift aloft.
Slanting up into night skies over the bay.
Light flickers and dances
before flashing into cinder
that will fall silently into churning waves.


Water gurgles in rocky sumps at the sea’s edge.
The tiny caverns floods like a heart chamber,
scurrying metallic green crabs flee out onto the rocks.
No two tides are identical–nature surprises even veterans.