The footsteps of one voice, impressions made
Upon the crown of worlds we are and not
Familiar. A voice asphyxiated now
By God’s eternal rest, the steps scrubed,
All evidence of past existence void.
The algid night warmed by sunset’s palette.
Coastland is cast aside in the gloom and cold,
Of winters bite and scratch that seeps inside.
The sands of Time and Shore joined silent by
Invisible mortar, like by magnets choice.
Frost sways and rocks above the muted town,
Then turns descending swift as kites retreat.
The waves verbosely lap along the shore,
Companion’s creased hand pulses mine with life.
My poignant awareness of being paused,
By sight of the delicate form of a
Butterfly lying in the sand so still.
Beholding her, the small shell of one life,
Whose wings so perfect, eerie and intact.
My pulsing hand held the laconic frame
Of life whose soul had fled to greater heights.
So great its beauty and so great my awe,
That felt I a vivid urge to lift mine eyes
To sky so vast, to heaven far away.

A harsh Winter day , sweating copper , shoring ditches , sporting long johns and ***** coveralls , thankfully returning home to hot coffee and a chair in the kitchen ! Glance at a seashell on the window sill from Daytona Beach , recalling beautiful blue Summer days with Brown Pelicans , white seagulls and salt water taffy ! Ships on her horizon , children laughing with frisbees and sweet Summer memories ! What beautiful token from that magnificent coastland tempers a thick skinned , calloused workers train of thought such as mine this very evening ?

I shake trees and watch junkies
drop like leaves. Please, it's a subtle breeze.
If I wanted to, I could puff this place
to it's knees. Freeze! It's a robbery.
Got you reaching for the stars.
Heh, as if you could follow me.
I'm toking up an ocean.
Floating up this poem.
Got it bottled for the coastland.
Coded for the devoted.
Duly noted were the roses.

From each sovereign land
come gifts foreignly grand.
Superior not is a single brand.
Without anew we dwindle bland.
As America planned, we spanned
strand by strand to coastland.
Then hatred fanned
and people were banned
to which I reprimand
we cannot stand.
To those that demand
entrants not be scanned,
go pound sand.
Blocking the flow’s countermand
is societal evolution in quicksand.
Let’s continue to expand
via the rules we understand,
nothing underhand.
Resuming walking hand in hand
is our blessing of this Wonderland.

Jeffrey Schmitz