THE FERRY TO THE DRY TORTUGAS

Dry tortugas

 

 

 

 

Seats (the best) on the top deck

Draped with posh hotel

Towels – pulling double duty saving and drying the seat for

The entitled; the family of five with a guest

 

Middle age couple #1 she holding desperately his hand

He looking like he stole time

Deciding on the white island linen shirt

The #2 she, face a beautiful forlorn ruin looking

Into the shoulder she married.

A shoulder that is turned away from her

As her husband talks across his son’s girlfriend (who feigns sleep)

Explaining something

Important (?) to his namesake

 

The young pale and married couple next to us Russian (?)

He sits away from the rays reading a thick paperback

She sits yoga in the sun

 

Two lovers at the rail; beautiful

Unnoticing of the lame (who are now walking)

And the blind (who are now seeing)

When he of receding hairline & confidence

grabs at her hips

She shimmy’s away

Ignorant of the finite attracting powers of good skin

She stands away a bit – the coy mistress, eyeing him

As the lusty gulf wind whips at her hem

Revealing everyone’s wish

 

THE MUSEUM OF LOVE AND UNDERSTANDING

red door

Where we keep our humanity

Hermetically sealed

And in the future they will come

Down long google-glassed tunnels

To collect artifacts

Heartless facts from

Our artless landmarks

Blind to the act:

Giving succor to the enemy

Night on the battlefield when mountains

Of hatred became mere

Mounds over which we stumbled with gifts

The weight of humanity too great

Too heavy for the light of day

A light used to make way for

The resumption of war

YEAR’S END

 cropped-copper-metro-station.jpg

On my daily walks I am beyond

The inexorable reach of headlines

Months ago I left Facebook and

Made a cheap vow to ignore the gridlock

In our sorrowful culture

 

But the screams and charges sneak through

Like the guilt of a favorite character

Who comes face to face with her own complicity;

When grief came – seeping in

Around the edges of her being –

The openings she is unable to conceal  

 

Today, in my rented depression,

Grief dressed for battle and screaming

Hatred and death in the streets

Overshadows that

Overworked and overlooked

Emotion — love.

Loving one another should be so easy, right? 

Wrong.

Our hearts remain an

Unprofitable wilderness;

Barren, drought-stricken stretches

Of leather bent on

Destroying that which we

Cannot control

 

We all are simply the people we’d like to think we are –

We measure our goodness by what we

Don’t do

Like

Where we don’t

Go

Who we don’t

Include

 

And we fight inscrutable, defensive battles

All in service to the ego

Making us

Mechanical

Flavorless people

Unable to acknowledge

The alchemy of delusion

LOVE IN SPRING

pond in spring copy

 

Urgency is consumed

By beauty

    Nature dressing

    Slowly leafing

   Nether parts

Forcing the urgent

   Lover to work

    Peeling her petals

    For nectar

That which

   Keeps the world

   On its axis

    Even as he is still,

    Cradled

    In her arms

    Face up

   Under downy-warm skies

 He dreams

    Youth tangled in nights

    And limbs

 Images

Impossible to share

Who will understand

    In light of fear?

 Consider:

 The world is no more

    A fearful place

    Than before

 Rather:

     We have grown

    More fearful.

Still he dreams

     Fearless

Nature laughs

Slipping into something

    More comfortable

    The mornings after

                                                                                                                                                                   G. Davis-Feldman 6/1/2014