On a peaceful August Sunday, I tried my hand at poetic still life. I’d love to read your attempts if you care to send them in the comments section. No spam or blatant obscenity, okay?
Muted Morning
Ocean hushed, red alders still.
Dogs sniffs fish-tinged air.
Mist dots my cheeks as I peer
through the gauze that binds
my dream-tattered soul,
waiting for the sleeping sun
to push back its quilt
and set the day ablaze.
***
The Seventh Day: We Rest
Smooth beach, shining.
Ocean pulls back,
slapping sand,
its tide work done.
Dog lolls on warm deck.
I lie watching swallows
in a soft blue-willow sky.
Wind chimes jingle.
August alders dance.
Copyright Sue Fagalde Lick 2010
