Sandland where the salt water kills the sweet potatoes.
Homes for sandpipers-the script of their feet is on the sea shingles-they write in the morning, it is gone at noon-they write at noon, it is gone at night.
Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats, pity anything but the sandpiper's wire legs and feet.

THE WIND stops, the wind begins.
The wind says stop, begin.
  
A sea shovel scrapes the sand floor.
The shovel changes, the floor changes.
  
The sandpipers, maybe they know.
Maybe a three-pointed foot can tell.
Maybe the fog moon they fly to, guesses.
  
The sandpipers cheep "Here" and get away.
Five of them fly and keep together flying.
  
Night hair of some sea woman
Curls on the sand when the sea leaves
The salt tide without a good-by.
  
Boxes on the beach are empty.
Shake 'em and the nails loosen.
They have been somewhere.

From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
     please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
     please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
     please come flying.

Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing.  The ships
are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
     Please come flying.

Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
     please come flying.

Bearing a musical inaudible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
     please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
     so please come flying.

Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
     please come flying.

For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
     please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
     please come flying.

With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
     please come flying.

Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
     please come flying.

Thus the Mayne glideth
Where my Love abideth;
Sleep ’s no softer: it proceeds
On through lawns, on through meads,
On and on, whate’er befall,
Meandering and musical,
Though the niggard pasturage
Bears not on its shaven ledge
Aught but weeds and waving grasses
To view the river as it passes,
Save here and there a scanty patch
Of primroses too faint to catch
A weary bee…. And scarce it pushes
Its gentle way through strangling rushes
Where the glossy kingfisher
Flutters when noon-heats are near,
Glad the shelving banks to shun,
Red and steaming in the sun,
Where the shrew-mouse with pale throat
Burrows, and the speckled stoat;
Where the quick sandpipers flit
In and out the marl and grit
That seems to breed them, brown as they:
Naught disturbs its quiet way,
Save some lazy stork that springs,
Trailing it with legs and wings,
Whom the shy fox from the hill
Rouses, creep he ne’er so still.

harbor-gray sandpipers
bow
their
soft heads
down
and
plant
their
tiny feet
upon the
wet beach sand
scurry
along the
crisp shoreline
to
greet
the
joy and bliss of
the
tides and the waves

Enter softly, she spoke to me, twisted like fungi on a tree trunk. For every spot of desert there's an ounce of ocean to fit inside it. Our tunnels will meet someday I told her. Do not be afraid reading this, doom can be sweet as a garden or smelly like an eye ******.

My abdomen is creased with age and tourniquets. Every time...I tie myself to a lamp post and wait for my Master to come with the next direction. I eat sugar cubes, carrots, and stand eight feet- so dive with me. I am a Pisces. I have been built to swim and suffer intolerable cruelties. Break me with your hand, your closed fist, a strap of leather, a bagful of flour. I am not the valor of   your toothbrush or table cloth. I do not follow the sunset home, instead I fly over the bayou, scouting for sandpipers in the low tide.

Looking at the telephone for you to appear, playing the songs of you in my head. I hear you, I remember the airports, the MCA, the head holding, and the longing. In place of reality, I choose your colors boldly and stuff them tightly into my left lapel and chest breast pocket. You are superior evidence that I exist.

This mountains chest
is rising and falling
and there’s a pink puddle
of spilled light
on the earth’s floor.

And these dancing sandpipers
march around as if they have known
for years
that there home is a masterpiece.

Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Sandpipers chasing the retreating surf,
Orange sun dawdling as a old
Man searching his lost memories,
Thick salty air caressing a lovers Loose curls
Flaccid waves reaching casually for
The Cerulean sky as their arms retire back to
Their sides.
Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Another afternoon On the Coast
~AD~

is here
and it tastes
like rain
The slight chill in
the air sends spasms of
delight down
my spine
during long walks
through mud, gravel, and
new grass
Splintered sunlight throws
shadows dancing
and geese form their
bold vee's overheard
sailing through the
stratosphere like
feathered ships with
trails of
cosmic sparkle
The sandpipers I watch
as they scuttle
about on
spindly legs, making funny
little tracks in
the sand at
the roadside
Waves lap on the
shore of a pond, ripples
made by a clean wind blowing
down from the ether
A star burst sky
hangs above
dotted with gossamer
wisps of vapor
and the occasional
falcon or hawk, swooping
with the greatest intensity
you could imagine,
wings going
down
up
down
There is music in
our veins
this time of year;
the dirt has
a pulse
of its own
And as I squint
out at the
light-drenched scape
I begin to
grasp the sweetness
of renewal,
the infinitesimal bravery
of that
tiny flower
pushing its way out
of the earth

Sandpipers have some place to go as do brown pelicans making long established rounds , not unlike ourselves , trapped in our own mortality , to be released at a time unknown , to our final destination ...

Weekend watercraft launch across blue bay waters ,
dolphins leading family and sailor out to awaiting nautical arms
Great Herons stand in silent royalty as sandpipers -
scurry their harbor home , enthralling the romantic -
fervor of Charleston , flickers of blessed creativity ,
the endearing gifts of maritime congeniality
Knock thrice upon the Atlantic doorway , write a song
of the placid waterway , count the Brown Pelicans that
ride criss-crossing zephyrs , pen your Carolina wonderment to
last forever* ...

Doctor my eyes by Jackson Browne.
Mom and child reunion by Paul Simon,
Quiet violence by Arthur Lymon,
Heaven bust be missing an angel by
Tavares
Theme from A Summer Place by the
Percy Faith archestive
Island in the sun by The Sandpipers,
Love power by the Sandpipers,
The horse by Cliff Nobles & Co,
Only the strong survive by Jerry Butler
Moonlight feels right by Starbuck,
Expressway to your heart by the Soul Survivors,
Shotgun by Junior Walker
Afternoon delight by The Strand
Vocal Band
We live in Brooklyn Baby by Roy Ayers
And Dance with
Me by Orleans.

I sit along the sunny sea
The waves
… kiss my toes.

I close my eyes
I giggle
Picking petals from a rose.

The scent
… of salty breezes;
A buoy sounds it’s bell.
Seashells tumble…;
Brother plays…
Sherman takes the hill.

Nana and Poppy are flying
Kite-tails…
Dance towards the sun.
The gulls hover free
Over the sea…
And, the sandpipers are on the run.

The summer’s cottage;
The stony walls
The rose garden blooms near the sea;

Remnants sewn
... in little satchels;
..., sea-salt and rose,  potpourri.

Shipwrecks
and underwater ruins

Dressed as shiny
moons and stars

That shimmer
for the sandpipers

When the sun drops her guard
and shows a little skin

El Niño scooped the sand 
clearing every scrap of driftwood, 
every construction playful of a summer’s dayful 
the slapped-together forts, dinosaurs, castles
now launched to Mexico, to Tahiti, who knows?
replaced by fresh fragments of forest 
twisted logs, battered beams
shed by Oregon, by Vancouver Island and Alaska
bobbed by current
to this windswept cove.

Beneath swirls of sunset
as Van Gogh might render
among scattered scallops, kelp, 
sandpipers by the hundred, 
one joyful dog
dances the landscape
expressing with his grin
this vast chaos
of delight.

And if your sun should nightly shine
To kiss my most fervent need
And if fevered hands should suddenly seek
Upon mine; inviolate, to feed

If, hand to hand, we fuel that hidden mouth
Which, cavernous, can never sleep
Who can say what the ending will be
Of things giving birth from the deep

Once-bound of heaven; loosed upon earth
To the uppermost firmaments, it must always escape
The clouds ferry sandpipers day-swift journeys,
While on beaches beneath, the dead birds gape.

Sounds swarming
But quite alarming

College babes
Like_ Slimfast
Drink fast
Loves never last
Dorming ****
X box Assassin Creed
Video gifts Elfering
Twitter  featuring
The Rattlesnake
*******

My sweet
surrender
Sangria
stuttering

Big mistake
The sangria
Clever mastering
The place was
bugged
That Drunk
No comedy act
Ben Stiller

All  Gigs **** her
GIF ruff stuff
Gold digger bluff
Hangover cliff
Her bedroom eyes
Tonight the
Holy water
I phone Maria
Sangria suits him
Just the ring fighter

Ratfinks website
White being
creamed
Drink Kahlia

I won't
My dream drink
Sangria
Saint
My love, you ain't

He is singing
Maria
Strong hangover
with mudpack
Malaria

Drink playmate
All geared up
Generous Gina
Montezuma revenge
The Saint lounge
Competition
How she flaunts
her drinks inferior
Writing a poem
missing
some fonts
((His Tatoo))
the bomb drinker
Pineapple chunks
Bayou
water ripe ripples
Leftover drunks
Mon Cheri *******

Acting like a Saint
Terri spiritual Rumi
The drink scruples
relationship
sandstorm

Riders of
Morrisons
Heirs of beer
At the dorm

The ((Psychic Alarm))
Your drink woke
you up
****** humor
potential
Sangria
Someone was singing
I just met a girl
named Maria

((Harry Potter Hogwarts))
San Antonio
Met Maria
What a belly wash

Drinking up
Alcoholic Darts
Sanguine
Difficulty
pregnancy
Two lovers
liking Maria

Optimistic
Smoothing in
Sangria
He has
a Margarita*
Mexican
Cancun
Margaret
upbeat
down to her
last drink

Sangria tank
Egyptian Army
buddy drinking
Like a
sandbank

Computer
Clickbank
Lions and coins
sandblasting
Morons
multitasking
Bermuda sounds
Sandpipers
And globetrotters
My Saint
of Sangria

Barcelona
Goddess
On her drenched
Sangria
mattress
She could
have done
his Bio

((That SanAntonio))

((Hostess)) Gia
Lollobrigida
Tony was singing
out to Maria

Her wings
of liquor
The Saint moves
quicker_

Cabaret stripper
Natalie let me
entertain you
Surprise the
sanitarians
Flipping homes
Drinking up
Their Sangria
My Saint
Bella
Mama Mia
You arrived invite
your friends
No Maria_!!
Drinks on me
Schools out
But Sangria
Stays in we party
Way out

The aleatory bridge of our love ,
a perfect note connecting the song -
within our hearts
The musical phrase of Sandpipers -
on lonely beachheads
The call of thunder , the intonation -
of the Angelic Host
Mercurial , agape instrumentation -
of dawns forest floor
Waterbird cadence , enlightened by the
apricot Sun
Crashing wave , carving stone , forever unexplored
Improvisational
Overwhelming .. Love ..

Undulating jade , juvenile days
Cold , salty rain
A seventh floor balcony
The gulls , the pelicans , the
sandpipers and me
Precious memory , precocious with crab bucket and flashlight ,
cut squid , open face reel , Panama
Jack mariners hat
Snorkels and sand dollars , shells , frothy
waters
Daughters , saltwater taffy , dolphins ,
mullet , catfish and boogie boards
Early breakers , soul shakers , thundering surf
The release of material worth
Sun melting into the western world
Gulf zephyrs kiss naked flesh ,
softening the man* ...

The soft breeze shifts bringing the scent of brackish water to quavering nostrils.
Salt, oyster shells, and the wonderful smells where three waters of disparity come together. Inlet, bay, and waterway push and pull like struggling personas.  
Strong fragrances of salt, fish, black sandy mud with tiny bits of shells, burnt diesel, and syrupy brown tannin from the trees. Large patches of reeds built up on mounds of mud and oyster shells, held in place by marsh grass and sea oats.
The oysters in their beds spit little streams as you pass by, beckoning, come closer. The little bearded bivalve’s mouths gaping to say we will shred your flesh if you give us a chance, wooing…step closer in the slippery slimy mud.
Small ***** sit by their holes in the black goo. The fiddlers march as though carrying a violin, their songs are clicking all the same pitch with no discernible harmony. They roll out tiny ***** as expert excavators leaving hole for escape from man and fowl.
The little birds, sandpipers scurry around- their skinny twig like legs moving faster than the eye can follow, putting one in front of the other, always moving forward never backing up making quick tight turns running from the water then chasing the bits of food as the foamy crooked line of surf pulls away.
Pausing to pick up a tiny speck of food too small to notice, her bony toes mark the mud writing in a cuneiform like language, probably a dead tongue not spoken for millennia. Beautiful shapes pointing, spelling out instruction and direction.
Lasting only seconds until the wind and water wipe the earthen canvas clean. A new page is opened tempting and luring the small writer with tidbits of food, enticing her to write line after line of an ongoing novel that will never be finished.

Morning people shelling in
drafts of ocean breath , a compelling blue visage housing
the lonely , the lovers , the forlorn
an the unaddressed
Sandpipers hammer for their dawn feast
Laughing gulls hover before me
The blue plane speaks of eternity
Crashing waves recall bitter journeys
New sun speaks of redemption , of
seashore nurture and admonition* ...

I've got
an itch
to get out
of this city,

I'm done.  
I'M DONE!
I'm sick of
this flow...

Let's go down
to the ocean
and swim
with the rays.

Let's watch
the sandpipers
as they run
to and fro...

I picture
a place
high
on a cliff

Only
accessible
during
low tide

Where *****
are our lunch,
and we pay
with sand dollars

Which we find
while we walk
down the shore
side by side

A touch of morning sun painting the clouds , searching for dolphins , marveling aloud
Turquoise views sprinkled with gold , busy sandpipers , wind driven gulls
The perfume of the ocean , a masterwork in vivid motion* ....

Waffle-like prints in the sand,
maple syrup sun pours across the land,
sunrise beach bulldozed clean,
sandhill dunes growing green.

Opalescent sheen of mother of pearl,
old oyster shells spin and whirl,
the waves come in with a slap,
seagull wings beat and flap.

Sand dollars here, but no change,
the crab runs sideways it's quite strange,
bottlenose dolphin swims right by,
the sun climbs higher in the sky.

Jelly fish, opaque blue balloon,
sandpipers squeak out a tune,
colored clams exposed with every wave,
they dig in fast like crawling in a grave.

No longer alone as the day begins,
kites now fly in the onshore wind,
parents and children, with frisbees and nets,
picnics to come and skin surfing I'll bet.

Like commiteemen on stick legs
they run about together
as if there were some issue,
some important question of the day.
They run up the beach
and down the beach.
They’re always just ahead of
some controversial wave.
One flies off
and the others follow.
But they land again on another issue,
pecking away at the sand,
their stick legs playing fast notes
to continue the meeting
as another wave comes in.

Wave after wave
White tips of foam
With grey linings run towards
A warm brun sand

Spider web white threads
On a turquoise canvas
Swirling in and out
Lapping in on a black granite frame

Emerald shore
Lined with dulse and crab
The changing sea palette
Paints a different picture every second

Slate, ash, porpoise, dove
Lead, pebble, coin and fossil
Pewter , cloud, silver and smoke
All dash towards the shore

Grey sandpipers run like kids in unison
In and out, in and out
Orange puffins land on small nests
Black and white Oystercatchers nod for food

Shifting cloud darkens the beach
Walkers led by happy dogs
Traverse the length of the coast
As the setting sun signals time to go home