Seaboard Magic
Allure
Beachfront bravado to the left and right
waves curl onto shore shifting sand
wiping hand drawn engravings in grit
as clean as a dull grey etch-a-sketch,
leaving a damp coastline, pristine
and refreshed while high and low tides
move in sets of seven, bowing to the moon’s
majesty, rising, rolling, and crashing
like a seaside symphony conducted
by Luna and her gravitational forces
like a solar maestro—directing
heaven sent crescendos exerted
from the nocturnal orb or diurnal daystar
rays enchanting Jean and I as we walked
along the brackish strand arm in arm,
examining remains of kelp forests torn,
severed, and dislodged by brutal currents
by tropical tempests, and El Niño storms:
Violent
Dynamic
Destructive.
Charmed
Cooling tired, bare feet in sudsy surf
Jean and I imagine life on a deserted island
while we search for elusive messages bottled
by humans, battered by natural elements,
propelled by Poseidon from coral groves
to dryland with other oceanic treasures washed
aground, rest shoulder to shoulder next to
empty shells, horseshoe crab exoskeletons,
smooth rocks, sand dollars, and starfish
that frame a familiar yet extraordinary stone
with a halo; gulls circle overhead as we
picked up the quartz gem, kissed it thrice
impulsively shut our eyes, and conferred
silent wishes upon the castaway tetrahedron
worn by pebbles, time, and space, then tossed
the worn talisman back into the saltwater fray
lowering our heads in reverence, listening,
breathing the Pacific Ocean’s ethereal song:
rhythmic
soothing
Enduring.
Nocturnal Expeditions
Each night I go on safari in dreams
hoofing it though savannas, I photograph
big game, immortalize wildlife,
honor existence over bagging trophies,
confine my conquests to shutter-release shots.
From grasslands to rainforests,
I advance through foliage like a tropical ecologist,
inhale the damp, intoxicating fragrance
of fresh blossoms and decaying vegetation
listen to croaking frogs buzzing insects, chirping birds.
Dragons nest trees feature purple petals
that pop alongside giant jungle roses.
I wipe forehead sweat with velvet petal plants,
absorbing perspiration in striking emerald fibers.
My gloved hands part vine walls, prevent
chill nettles from stinging & numbing
bare skin, avoiding slimy lizards tongue leaves,
marveling how green fountain bushes
gush between matted, detritus undergrowth.
Jacksonville feral infant, I imagined a childhood
reared by Seeonee wolves or Mangani great apes
heeding jungle law and administering frontier justice
laid down by Rudyard Kipling and Edgar Rice Burroughs
a code unsustainable during metropolitan daylight hours.
Nadia & I
Nadia Comăneci sought me out in a dream
to tell me she treasured a letter I’d written
in college when she, still just a teen, had
mystified Montreal Olympic spectators
in frigid stands, dorms, warm living rooms,
and smoky bars as they watched miss impeccable’s
balance beam heroics & uneven bars magic.
The perfect ten approached me, tossed
a pair of lycra leotards on my mattress,
then bid me to rise, dress & stretch;
“Bart Connors, you ain’t,” she winked & grinned,
yet assured me our overdue exercise would
commence unimpeded by my lackluster talent,
present confusion, or enduring admiration.
Throwing a Moldavian folk scarf onto my rug
she slipped a body shawl off her shoulders
displaying arms, legs & chest pectoral muscles
still supple, toned, lean, femininely defined;
awestruck, her statuesque figure morphed
from a woman to an adolescent as “Nadia’s Theme”
floated through my enchanted furnace grate.
Tears welled in my eyes recalling how Grandma Leedom
would hum the self-same tune to The Young and the Restless
before piano notes & Nadia’s touch transformed my carpet,
she took both my hands & we fell in sync on a foam mat;
out-of-body I watched as we hit the floor—gymnastic youths—
doing backsprings, forward rolls, cartwheels & handstands
till music stooped & I awoke middle-aged, exhausted, alone.
Purdy Creek Choka
Northwest white polars
lean like elderly people
attempting to keep upright
when muddy currents
clutch waterlogged feeble trunks
pull tired legs alike asunder
like flagpoles planted
in insubstantial soil
both endure flash floods
while otters back float
bouncing off impediments
like brightly lit pin balls
joyriding the river’s surge
carrying them to the sea.
An award-winning author, poet, and educator, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in literary magazines, journals, and anthologies including Danse Macabre, Poetry Life and Times, Ekphrastic Review, and Sparks of Calliope. Warner’s collections of poetry include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori: A Chapbook Redux, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps, and Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction 2019-2022—as well as Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories. Currently, Warner writes, participates in “virtual” poetry readings, and enjoys retirement in Washington.
Sterling Warner’s Author Website
https://www.amazon.com/author/amazon.com_sterling.warner
