Serene poetry

The Enduring Catwalk

© 1995 Don M. Blews


 The catwalk's crumbling spoils,

 bares no clue of safety

 over ooze of Mother’s marsh.

 To brave the walk in unshod feet,

 pits rage of weathered planks.


 Pilings of barnacles, old and new,

 challenge the surge of tide.

 To cross this mire carries risk

 floating with fear....swallowed

 live by a vast morass.


 Groans heard from wood of rot....

 trembling knees and tensing arms.

 The dock, battered and wasted;

 Nature has branded Her kingdom,

 years from the fondling of man.


 Churning, swirling over oyster beds.....

 sharp as razors.....flows the brine

 down the creek, beneath the pier.

 With the current, ride shrimp in schools,

 as racing mullet flash their sides.


 Marsh hens squawking loud

 embrace the puff mud’s enchantment.

 Where herons cautiously feed

 fiddlers dance ‘till the tides flood,

 risking fate as a blue crab’s fare.


 Saw-grass,, feathered and serried,

 renders the wind’s direction

 bowing sheer backs to the reed.

 In Amity now with Nature’s mother,

 courting the catwalk kindles a spirit




 A Coast Possessed

© 1995 Don M. Blews


Rock of mounds, folded and polished,

 nature’s sculpture of time and erosion

 plunge cold into oceans clear

 to flaunt its masses of might.

 Rock, as giant petrified mushrooms

 would cloak a forest floor,

 lie unburied in tombs of aqua.


 A glass-eyed Cyclops towers,

 ruling the garden of stone,

 to conquer a sunless veil.

 The lighthouse sends its rays

 to a horizon, far from its shackles,

 where souls of the ocean swell

 beneath void of the farthest heavens.


 A wooden fossil cowers,

 battered by seaweed of stone

 as tide's relic to harsh reality.

 An omen testing weather’s wrath,

 never again to relive its past.....

 bilges dry and cockpit tidy,

 is hostage held by a coast possessed.




Beach Seduction

© 1995 Don M. Blews


 Her waters heave, breaching his soul,

 to bare him mortal.....bound to meekness.

 And so his ego, revealed as false,

 then came shrouded in sprays of salt.


 Born were breakers from her troughs,

 surging in crests, she read his thoughts.

 She ripples a clue, submerged under swells,

 enticing his life with remnants of past.


 Slapping the shore, kissed by her waves,

 surging mists swallow his gaze;

 as churning foam seduces his heart,

 a dream of mystique renders him hushed.


 Lightning’s display chills skies to gray

 and thunder’s echo threats his refuge.

 In a frenzy to climax, the clouds touch the seas;

 rain taps on her belly a sensual tease.




 A Continent

© 1995 Don M. Blews


Mother yields spirit.....

 passion for growth as seeds go free,

 lust for gold between the seas.

 Content to be still, happy to breeze,

 freedom to live and doom to die,

 a spirit of life..... I honor you nature.


 Father yields face.....

 wrinkles of rivers as tears of my age,

 eyes of lakes turbid with change.

 Profiles of coastline sinking to time,

 dimples of valleys eclipsed by the hills,

 a face of character..... I applaud you Time.


 A force bears life.....

 titans of green to cleanse my soils,

 aquatic slithers to scour my waters.

 Creatures of light to bar my seclusion,

 critters of night to guard my soul,

 a life untainted..... I praise you God.




 Tonight’s Song

© 1995 Don M. Blews


Tonight shares a song.....

 A song of dreams,

 as heavens cloak

 cloud spirits in black,

 spirits sailing hushed

 in a sea of winds.


 A song of adventure,

 as the lord of darkness

 pulsates the oceans

 to swells of rhythm,

 and outcrops of rock

 unearth apparitions.


 A song of revival,

 when night creatures wake

 in a concert of caterwaul,

 from moose and owls;

 an orchestra of katydids,

 crickets and frogs.


 A song of mystery,

 when bushes shake hands

 bearing tales of terror,

 and trees surrender

 their black to the earth,

 as fireflies sign the way.


 A song of freedom,

 ‘till the moon shadows gather

 and all is at peace,

 ‘till darkness grows weak

 and the sun holds it captive.

 This night joins in song.....




 Eyes of the Ibis

© 1995 Don M. Blews


This mangrove blooms ibis blossoms,

 Blossoms of white, shading the roots,

 Roots of wriggling snake water.

 Beyond, slender saws of grass

 Strain their cutting cords.

 North, the still filled sinkhole

 Harbors its womb of leach.

 South, the horseshoe armies

 March to fertile vows,

 Far from the blues of the porpoise

 Thrashing his tail of tempest.

 Above a trickle to sea,

 The osprey steals a glades on high.

 East, a cypress withdraws

 To knee on stands with hands of praise.

 West, a hatchling fades to water

 On the teeth of a sinking snout.

 Up under, the hawks of tired souls

 I scan the cords shore to shore,

 Scanning glades of evermore,

 Flowing thru eyes of the mangrove ibis.


© Don Blews 2016