First Mate

Blown in on slender air billows linen white
Red wine, placed hand, cocktail napkins, opinion stand
And sunsets from here and then lined across her face
First ring were I to call a friend in times of flight
Let it rain, let us dance again in circles around the flame
Dousing dreams, creating schemes, my crazy matcing hers
Lipstick red straight of a bed, miles through the night
Bare toes in sand, bare breast surf strand, lapping at the moon
The keys, yes please, trays filled with cheese and dip
Pack now, lets go to burry friends at sea, alright?
Salt rimmed glasses view the world, salt encrusted t-shirt girl
Will always say alright. Slicing heaven here on earth
Bring shoes, headlamp and key lime pie. Bring spouse for crew and beer
And lest forget, sunset deck, new house, new friends, New Year

I find myself almost caught up for NaPoWriMo Challenge. I’m jumping straight ahead to Day 10’s prompt. Today’s Challenge is to write a poem that is a portait of someone important to you. It doesn’t need to focus so much of what the person looks like, as what they are.

Maui Morningmare

Turtle crows breaking night
Sweet flowers scent delight
Turkey, rooster could it be?

Chirp birdsong choir call
Air fills with squawk and squwal
While turtle dreams blanket me

Surf rolls dawns first light
In salty foam of white
I crawl from deep sheets of sea

Day Nine of the NaPoWriMo Challenge is write a nine line poem. I am using a Balassi Stanza format with a rhyme scheme of aad bbd ccd and a syllable count of 667 667 667.


There’s no where to run, I continue to say
It’s not that kind of beach, too short, too steep to bother
Just try anyway, he insisted this day, try anyway
So I lace up my shoes and trot towards the water

In a brilliant sky day the ocean churns a low crash
Rutted deep sand seems to flatten ahead
Crabs scurry side step to clear my foot path
Keeping close watch from eyes atop of their heads

Haleakala before me and I at her feet
Her crown of ringed clouds guarding her crest
To my right easing surf in glass turquoise retreat
Banyan trees border the sand in wide arch on my left

A fortuitous sight, this must be a good sign
Leather belt bound with buckle weather beaten and strong
Sandy trophy for running wherever I find
The narrow beach curves then streches out miles long

No pack on my back, no bottle in hand
Just this smooth shell I rub between forefinger and thumb
Keeping a beat with the tide no earbuds could can
And I am grateful that I agreed to this run

In standing straight form ten poles planted in line
Their master casters crawl from low slung pitched tents
I duck my head beneath invisible filament line
That cross over the beach to the water’s clear depths

Three miles in buildings first enter my view
Yoga and crossfit pilates right there in the surf
I turn and head back salty sweat beginning to stew
And then there’s my husband an impromptu water stop crew

Again I am gone, a white lab sharing my gait
’till he turns ┬áruns headlong into slow crashing surf
Chasing a fantom ball because he can’t wait
For the real one hidden deep in his keeper’s shirt

Long sweeping waves extend their greedy grasp
Poseiden reclaimig this portion of land
While pipers pipe piping he takes without ask
Narrowing even further this slender strip of sand

And I, I feel blessed, this day in this sand
For a the shore, these shoes and this life
But more for a man who loves me just as I am
And for this day long ago when I became his wife.

I’m a few days behind this year. This prompt was from Day 7 for the NaPoWriMo challenge. The challenge was to write a poem about luck and fortuitousness.


Diamonds sparkle glint blue cascade
Builds and crests and rolls
Curling, swirling a timed parade
Tips white with frosted foam
Sunlight blows from the leading edge
A wall of glass below
Shatters crashes in hurling pledge
To wipe out undertow
Then flattens spilling foam again
And soothes my wetted soul

Day fives’s NaPoWriMo challenge is to write a poem that is based in the natural world: it could be about a particular plant, animal, or a particular landscape. But it should be about a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often. Try to incorporate specific details while also stating why you find the chosen place or plant/animal meaningful.

Suit Sense

The real question is …. When should you stop wearing a bikini? It doesn’t seem to be that big of a question to fashion columnists or most other women my age. The fashion magazines say no one over thirty belongs in one and apparently my peers have bought into this edict. But not me, no sir. Instead I cling with fading hope to my itsy, bitsy, teeny, weenie, one size larger this year bikini.

Maybe the real question is whether or not I actually belonged in one in the first place. I’ve never had the perfect swimsuit shape. Perhaps it’s this acceptance of imperfection that has in the long run blurred the lines of appropriateness for me.

One day I’ll be laying on a beach in Catalina sipping margaritas with a friend, surrounded by firmer but less confident twenty-something’s and thinking I’m doing just fine in my little black suit. And then one week later I’ll see a photo of a Mexican beached whale and gasp when I realize that muffin top whale roll belongs to me.

It’s not just a size factor, there’s also the age issue. At 40 I could convince myself that those magazine articles were just wrong, but at 50 maybe I’m the one that’s wrong.

Still, each time I head to the beach I reach for the fun, string held, two piece suit instead of a more sensible form of cover. It’s just not time yet. I’m just not ready to retire the attire of my youth. Maybe when I’m 60. Who knows…maybe not.

Days in Mexico

Today the water is flat, outside my third floor patio perch, two blocks back, with hot coffee and Kahlua in hand. The days roll out slowly like this. Birds greeting the morning sun, and one by one my companions join me stretching from their slumber with bed head hair and rumpled clothes.

The mornings are peaceful and reflective. We speak in quiet tones and walk with gentle feet making up for the celebrating and poolside noodle dancing of the night before. Ah, the noodle dance, an interpretive new genre of movement that is part ballet and modern flow combined with exotic dance, all done with the aid of a bright pink floatie noodle. It’s silly and all fun till someone gets hurt. This time it was me who took the tumble after a particularly challenging one foot balancing move. So much for the noodle dance.

So this morning we wander each in our own silence. We gather scattered clothes. We whisper good mornings and listen to the soft roll of the water as it meets the shore.

Mexico days let us forget our other-side border lives. We waken slowly, play like children and spend hours floating in the flat surf on pink noodles while dolphins take turns dancing for us. I think they are hoping to borrow my noodle too.