The Fires

The summer air captures me
in its pollen laced grasp,
as I sit in silent thought
on a hill of dried grass.

The wildfire burns in the east
its smoke filling the valley below,
hiding the buildings and cars
obscuring my daily show.

Only a barn lost this time,
not like the fire south,
it took five homes away
left lives forever changed.

All I see is dry weeds
fresh tinder for a blaze,
behind me a hundred houses
could be gone in days.

The heat dries my lips,
hands, arms, and feet,
I walk away from my perch
to my A/C retreat.

A Monster

What makes a monster a monster?
Is it it's teeth or claws?
Or maybe its wicked tail?
I have seen a scarier beast,
that looks like you and me.

How does it do such terrible things?
Without breathing fire,
or bearing its razor fangs.
This monster comes when quiet,
and leaves in agony, pain, and riot.

It tears apart families, friends, and strangers.
Escaping remorse,
and denying regret.
This monster is a pathogen,
slowly destroying it's host within.

It starts with a lie or in anger.
Evolving it grows,
eating the infected.
Until it rears it ugly head,
in a moment of weakness it's fed.

A Memory

I can hear it,

the ocean breeze

pushing through the trusses,

then disappearing in silence,

somewhere in the sand.

The waves breaking,

making a pattern, a beat

driven forward, than backward,

governed by the tide.

I can smell it,

the salty air,

tangled with the days catch

and a hint of perfume

that haunts this place.

The wet sand and dry,

a curved imperfect line

littered with abalone,

disguising sea glass.

I can feel it,

the suns fading rays,

warming my face,

my skin absorbing

all that it can.

The waves crash

over my toes,

cooling my feet,

keeping a balance.

Still I can hear it,

the laughter of the children

across the empty beach,

the seagulls searching,

and diving for bits of food

along the rock barricade.

A lone street performer

with an empty hat

playing for his life.

Still I can smell it,

the seafood restaurant,

a lone megalith

anchoring the pier,

never letting go.

The tide loosening

the tightening,

letting incisiveness

rule its feeble grip.

Still I can feel it,

the cool night air

as the sun disappears

beneath the waves

drowning in the heat.

The sand on my back

as I look up

to the sky for stars

hiding in the clouds.  

Reflections

Reflections

They look back at me

Distorted

On wavy glass and dirty mirrors

I see

A stranger in blue jeans

A dirty white shirt

Black stains on his sleeve

He looks away

As I hear movement

Our eyes meet again

Locked

Deep breaths

Greenish blue

Distinctive features

Scars

I close my eyes

He disappears

For a moment

Then he is back

He gives a sheepish grin

Winks

And I walk away