December Ocean - A Poem

Don't be fooled

even oceans
so vast and
limitless

have tempo,
character,

On the drive
to the beach

sunbathers gone
only lone fishermen

the ocean
beneath the bridge

to the island
is serene, flat

like blue glass
save for a ripple,

How many times
did I travel

this same passage
to spy an ocean

tumultuous,
jaunty,
prankish,

Yet today, she
is slow,
sluggish

the waves breaking
lazily,

the large waves
pushing forth

then spilling softly
into rolls,

Way out in the distance
boats ride her
foraging,

It's an easy day
on the placid water

as gulls dive and bask
under a blue
sun-strewn sky

their wings taking them
far into the horizon,

then landing feet first
onto the giant's sleeping belly.

Suburban Mornings - A Poem (from "Speaking to the Darkness")

New Jersey, USA

The first stirs
of morning
arrive as shrills,
whistles, tweets,
against a backdrop
of dewy, dark nothingness --
so blankety soft and still,
I can hear my own breath.

But as the world illuminates
from below,
burly groans emerge,
the whirls of man --
mowers, weeders,
saws and blowers,
their racket so loud
windows are mere
membranes now.

I must endure the
hours of manicuring,
primping,
the shaping of Nature,
into a green "couture"
landscape,
to be appreciated
by the few who
saunter or drive by.

By Mary E. Lohan