The Box Turtle

 

The turtle makes his life an aimless choice
if once, reset upon a journey dark
he’s lost his vision and his inner voice
to turn him from his home within his park.

He’s wandered from his joyful habitat.
He’s lost, and inched, somehow, the wrong, wrong way
and home cannot be found from where he’s at.
Oh, pitiful his journey from that day.

So all of us must journey, find our way;
like turtle, turned, and looking for some source
to guide us back to places whence we came
to home and heart familiar with our course.

An old and simple chart:  love has its say
unless we wander, withering away.

The Birth of a Hurricane

Boats 07STORM_wideweb__430x229

 

“The Birth of a Hurricane”

It’s steamy in the southern Keys tonight.
Her air is thick. She tastes of salty fog.
A quiet’s fallen with no birds in sight.
Her ocean swells; she’s pregnant with resolve.

Her palms now twist and spin and wave their skirt
and fall too quick from fluttered warmth beneath.
She waits; that stronger flash begins to flirt
as light’ning promises some stiffer teeth.

Expectant, gray light pushes down this beach:
a rising, higher tide begins to form
of something coming just before the breach.
Still hesitant, she wavers in the storm.

She’s here! She’s pushed a new-born screaming style;
she’s grown a full-blown wind to squall awhile !