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Hanging in a leaden sky
Gulls, in tight formation, fly.
Heavy snow's cascading flare
Sodium sharpness filling air.

Heaving waves carousing fen
Ocean's scent, aloft.. .and then
The skiff with oarsman pulling tight
Materializing from the night

Braving, now, a heavy sea
Puffing pipe, irreverently.
Oblivious of mounting gale
Abandons oar to set a sail

Skimming sharp to gravel beach
Shrugs aside hazards reach.
Wading into pounding foam
Smiling thought of ***, at home.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Not trying to one up you, fellow mariner....I felt I should tell you of the other old salt doing his thing, just around the corner  in the next stormy quay.
Inspired by Anais Vionet's beautiful rendition of maritime drama: "Harbor Snow".
I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.

Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically

A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.

Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.

Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Nobody by Mitski
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/15/25:
Livid = angry, indignant, or enraged.
She sat astride the stool in silence
Watching how the mayflies flew,
Symmetry in chaos painting
Colour’s gentle strokes anew.
Felt the touch of evening breezes
catch the tendrils of her hair
Watching mayflies rise and fall
through symmetry, without a care.
Promise fills the moment’s magic
Hope is pounding through her breast,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunlight
Love’s anticipation best.
Scattered light intrudes through leafage
Casting sunspots in the shade,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunshine
Tranquil peace of mind is made.
Softly a guitar is strumming
Melding with the lakeside air,
Rendezvous with him a-coming
Mayflies rise to empty chair.

Mayflies rise and fall in twilight
Rise and fall...and they don’t care.

M
January 2013
For dear Guy Scutellaro and his utterly perfect
"The Evening's Gentle Embrace".
Of Fang and Feather slides thy day
Through Quandre'd halls, delight at play....
That thee should glide thus so, my friend,
Would have, in me, acknowledged end....
That, that which gilds enticement's rung
Indeed, is for which, Song is Sung.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Enjoining the joy of Stephen Yocum's delightful story
"Winter Chills and Winged Visitors"
It's getting on to 4, the sun has not shown itself
all day, the snow is melting, some bare spots of
grass appearing here and there, it's 34 degrees.
The little piles of bird seed I put out at noon on
the walkways have all but disappeared, gangs
of birds have mostly consumed it all, pretty little
ground feeders, of one kind or another. My inside
fat cat has had his nose pressed to the window all
day observing them with wide eyed interest and
quivering jaw, maybe licking his predatory lips.
Even though he has never eaten anything that did
not come out of a bag or can.

I too have enjoyed watching them busily hopping
around feasting, I always wonder where they go
when they disappear. Maybe just passing through
headed south for warmer pastures? Or are they year
round locals? Do they have any idea who put out
the feast, and how does the word get spread, do
they have scouts or lookouts, or some kind of aerial
bird only telegraph system.

At least the freezing weather kept our Barn Cats all
snugged up and off the street, at one point I quick
counted between 40 to 50 winged visiting diners
out there. The cats never even knew they were here.

Watching them feed was almost as much of a treat
for me as it was for them. It made me feel useful,
and that does not happen very often these days.
When we get old it is these little things that matter
and sustain us.
More snow, rain and cold forecast into next week.
I may have to brave the icy roads into town for more
seeds for my little winged friends.
sunset settles behind the trees
and the mayflies rise from the creek
to touch the water to deposit eggs.

the mayfly lives a day, a single night

and in twilight's glow
they rise and fall
in a delicate ballet
to caress the water,

this romance with flowing water,
so brief, so beautiful.
Take a tender moment, friend,
Pause a little while,
Ponder how the Masters wept
When fashion fought with style.
Imagine, how through history,
Those Artisans, galore,
Fought their creativity
Endeavoring for more.

Pause awhile, and ponder
The task that lies before,
Sip a drop of Irish
And ponder it some more.
A realization flooding
From the cortex of your brain
With a laughing pure simplicity,
Resolving the insane.

The hues upon the pallet
Decree the mood before,
Finessing with the paintbrush
Encourages amore,
The thrill of pure excitement
Creating in you now....
An inspiration's Miracle
From the running sweat of brow.

Go to it, Girl.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
A comradely nudge of encouragement in an effort to overcome the frustration in the titanic struggle within the verse of Vianne Lior's  "Where the Brush Breaks".
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