The Churn [Free Verse]

On the shore
of angry seas

I hear the crash
of foamy waves,

but miss the 
crisp sudsy sizzle
that one hears
on a sunny summer day.

That nuanced note
is lost to the Churn

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.

DAILY PHOTO: Havelock Island Feathered Sunrise

Taken in December of 2018 on Havelock Island (a.k.a. Swaraj Island)

POEM: Seashore Mind [PoMo Day 15 – Villanelle]

The waves are churned to foam.
The sight mesmerizes.
My mind is miles from home.

My seated self does roam --
chaos that surprises,
like waves are churned to foam.

Like one w/ Capgras Syndrome,
hustler mistrust arises.
My mind 's wary of home. 

I focus on the chrome,
but my ear recognizes
the waves that churn to foam.

I've vagabond chromosomes,
but still the thought chastises:
"Your mind is miles from home!"

I'm sitting all alone,
and my mind surmises:
Like waves churned to foam,
your mind 's so far from home.

POEM: Infinite Ships


The voyage, now, is at an end.
The anchors have been cast.
The fleet bobs silently offshore,
looking boundlessly vast.

For fog has settled on the bay
and ship shapes fade to gray.
They count themselves infinite ships
while bounded by that bay.

The sea deceives, that much is true;
the rest we’ve yet to know.
Some will swear that trawlers sit there
that were lost long ago.

Coastal Haiku

shore wash:
chasing, and chased by,
tiny feet



crab sand art
alien beach language
’til high tide



dark clouds.
fishing boats race
churning seas



spiked urchin
wedged amid the rocks,
step wisely



low tide
glass sea stretches to
the breakers