Man Smoking Cigarette at the Beach
Posted: 05 Jun 2018, 01:20
Revision (2)
And now
sad to say
it is too short
we are left wanting prose....Frank
OK, Frank, here's more...bernie
Burrows of wind push his cigarette smoke
up to ocean cliff diners gathered to parse
grilled mussel.
They order bass under rippled umbrellas
and flags from catch of the day specials.
A John Bosco like figure, a chef in white,
passes among the parishioners,
he speaks and touches diners like the smoker
and his late wife, passes ice cold vodka stingers
tasty on flush, reddened lips.
The surf purrs at the smoker's feet
like a small animal, a watery cusp of empty salt
over distant bathers cloudy and soundless.
The flat smash of waves rolled from distant ports,
forlorn like Bach's piece for unaccompanied cello.*
A petrol lamp lowers, the sand darkens
and a solitary cigarette lights the beach.
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCicM6i59_I
Revision (1)
Faced into the blue dregs of wind
And the cries of distant swimmers.
The surf purring at his feet
like a small animal.
The flat smash of waves like the edge
of Bach's piece for unaccompanied cello.
The cusp of a watery grace.
A petrol lamp lowers, the sand darkens
and a solitary cigarette lights the beach.
Original
Faced into the blue dregs of wind
And the cries of naked swimmers
Calling oaths from the distance.
He feels the surf
against his bare feet purring
Like a small animal.
The resolution of ocean water
Holds him on the edge of stillness
to fall back in sweet abeyance.
Gathered up over sea air,
the abounding waves smash
On the cusp of watery grace.
The sun grows dark
like an extinguished petrol lamp
and loss fills the solitary smoker.
THE SEA IS HIGH again today, with a thrilling flush of wind. In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of spring. A sky of hot nude pearl until midday, crickets in sheltered places, and now the wind unpacking the great planes, ransacking the great planes…. From the Alexandria Quartet by Durrell.
And now
sad to say
it is too short
we are left wanting prose....Frank
OK, Frank, here's more...bernie
Burrows of wind push his cigarette smoke
up to ocean cliff diners gathered to parse
grilled mussel.
They order bass under rippled umbrellas
and flags from catch of the day specials.
A John Bosco like figure, a chef in white,
passes among the parishioners,
he speaks and touches diners like the smoker
and his late wife, passes ice cold vodka stingers
tasty on flush, reddened lips.
The surf purrs at the smoker's feet
like a small animal, a watery cusp of empty salt
over distant bathers cloudy and soundless.
The flat smash of waves rolled from distant ports,
forlorn like Bach's piece for unaccompanied cello.*
A petrol lamp lowers, the sand darkens
and a solitary cigarette lights the beach.
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCicM6i59_I
Revision (1)
Faced into the blue dregs of wind
And the cries of distant swimmers.
The surf purring at his feet
like a small animal.
The flat smash of waves like the edge
of Bach's piece for unaccompanied cello.
The cusp of a watery grace.
A petrol lamp lowers, the sand darkens
and a solitary cigarette lights the beach.
Original
Faced into the blue dregs of wind
And the cries of naked swimmers
Calling oaths from the distance.
He feels the surf
against his bare feet purring
Like a small animal.
The resolution of ocean water
Holds him on the edge of stillness
to fall back in sweet abeyance.
Gathered up over sea air,
the abounding waves smash
On the cusp of watery grace.
The sun grows dark
like an extinguished petrol lamp
and loss fills the solitary smoker.
THE SEA IS HIGH again today, with a thrilling flush of wind. In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of spring. A sky of hot nude pearl until midday, crickets in sheltered places, and now the wind unpacking the great planes, ransacking the great planes…. From the Alexandria Quartet by Durrell.