September 2010

Wind After Storm – Carol Tashijian

Wind After Storm

The wind tears at the shutters
And rattles the doors.
The wind converses in many voices,
Low and reverberant.
The wind tosses the crows
Up the incandescent sky.
The gull teeters on the cliff’s edge
And plunges into the wind
Which bears it away.
The wind polishes the day
And dries the puddles
Remaining from the recent storm.
The wind hurls the waves
That spout iridescent spray
Into the moving air.
The wind tugs at my hair
And whispers in my ears.
It carries the scent of sun-struck pines.
“Fly”, it says. “You can fly.”

 Carol Tashjian

Pebble Beach – Betsy Bunn

PEBBLE BEACH 2010

The pebbles are still here, of course,
Piled up as they have been for eons-
Stone against enormous stone
Heaped on the edge of the world.

 
I like to think
that giants once played ball with these rocks          
or marbles, or bowling-          
Maybe a round or two of bocce ball.         
Perhaps they built a fort
With all the ocean for a moat,           
And seals like loving Labradors.

 
The rocks are silent now-
No sound except the laughter of the gulls against the sea.
We balance here like toys
And watch the farther islands rise
As the tide goes out.

 
Betsy Bunn
September 2010