Marooned

I borrowed my uncle’s truck in some alternate vision: we drove Pacific Highway.
I couldn’t imagine the details of the location, except, cliffs and a wayward sun; you were smiling with ruby painted lips, and all that blonde hair was being blown in a California wind.
We’d wind down a road as the stars were comin’ out after that explosion of color, the sunset and I’d make love to you in the bed of that pickup truck, with it’s gate down, pulled up along side some roaring cove.
Wrapped in each other, there was no time, no limit, no future…the present was just you and I with the salt of the beach and all these lights they call stars.
You told me you loved me.
But I saw how your eyes looked westward and away, running faster than jet planes and harder to navigate than the widest ocean- something that I may never catch up to. I reckon, it’s that wild untameable, chaotic thing that pours fire all over to drown me; it’s that glittering unattainable bauble I’ll call your heart.
I sought for you with my hands and grasped at nothing, a ghost and it sent pain through my arms like ice in my veins. A terrible disquietude stole over me and infected my soul; a summer breeze makes me weak, the swell of tide brings me to my knees.
Was it the beauty of spontaneity that made childish hearts glow and did it lose its luster at the weight of mature feelings bloomed? Does the severity of love make you skiddish, so much that you force yourself to flee from feelings that might hold you responsible? For me it was as if my cup runneth over and the next was drained empty at one viscious swallow.
You’ve jumped ship and left the crew looking towards the helm.
And now there’s a mutiny as the ship founders on a muddy shoal.
I am marooned. Come back, rechart these waters, find me where I lay. Sit by my side and explain what cannot be. The eloquence of words, perhaps would be lost, I’d leave them aside for a drink of clear water. I’ve poured over what man may know of heartache and reason and have come out none the wiser.
Lest the moment be lost forever, kiss me once more…I may yet show you how I still cherish the golden illumination of your mouth as spirit may pass to spirit in the ancient custom of love.


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To Chiara and the Sand Between My Toes

Chiara asked if I fancy myself to the likes of Kerouac- I told her  I feel better than that: I’ve got Jack’s soul in a complete volume and my northern light is a Google application.
I see a pleasant beach from this abandoned and broken plastic lounge chair I recline on. I reckon aloud at all this human domesticity that was, at that time, all around me.
“Have I ever seen the water meet the sand in a place that wasn’t beset by buildings of some sort? Have I ever seen truly pristine beaches?”
I was laying on the beach in the solitude of the night or early morning. A pier being to my right and to my left an expanse of darkness that I know reaches to a jetty and a small inlet at a mile and half to my right, north that is.
The waves are breaking and the warmth of a south Florida summer is upon me; it is heavy and salty and I breath it in richly as some southernly, humid perfume.
Two people are vaguely outlined by the drifting yellow lights of the pier illuminates some 50 yards away, to my right that is. In the obscurity, a light is most noticeable. I see a dark figure entering the surf. I saw the cherry of a cigarette burning. I see the cherry proceed to the sand as the figure waded into the shallows.
What I thought was of litter- how trash is it to litter on a beautiful beach. What struck a second time in my brain as I swigged a tin can was something that followed hence: what would happened then if everyone were to come to this beach to smoke leisurely and carelessly toss a butt in the sand?
The result: thousands of butts accumulating in the sand. I swigged once more, rather more seriously. I swallowed and found my toes digging in moist sand. I imagined myself walking on a bed of cigarette butts.
I thought back to the vulgar man-things action. If the beach perhaps had been swamped by said thousands of careless smokers who toss their butts willy-nilly, I thought, would it be so bad to tread on a carpet of used cigarette filters?

“No, it certainly could be worse” and I swigged the contents of my tin and let it at that.

Newly Born Sea Turtles in Southern Florida

Down here in southern Florida, my mom gets pretty excited when the turtles begin their seasonal nesting. When the turtles drag themselves onto the beach, they deposit their clutch of eggs and bury them till they hatch and scramble to sea. These little guys were dug up by the folks at Gumbo Limbo Animal Reserve, and I wanted to share her video with you all:
I believe the grey bucket holds the Leatherback turtles and the other, the Loggerheads. (in the middle of the clip you can sea the shells they have hatched from.) For the next couple of weeks the rest of the turtles will be beginning to hatch and dig their way up from their sandy nest here in the sunny stretch of Florida- the sea turtles who are fortunate enough to have chosen Boca and Deerfield beaches as a nesting ground are lucky as they are under the protection of the wildlife department; some will be taken to the Gumbo Limbo Nature Center to be protected and cared for.  

The World that was Mine; The Dunes of Strandhill

I put my tent up in the dune hills outside of town. The dunes themselves are massive and snake through a handful of acres that are cradled by bay and beach. The wind is intense, if it is not the rain it is always something else in Ireland. The sun was setting beautifully with purples and pinks- the sand of the dunes glowed like coals under a fire.IMGP2040
I got such a strange notion as I explored this expanse in the setting hours. As I meandered through the hills, valleys and animal trails to crest and trough, I found myself invigorated-even to the point of being worked up. My blood began pumping; the wind was rushing through my hair. I took my flip-flops off and felt this burning desire to sprint and scream till my lungs couldn’t produce energy enough. The course wavey rushes and grass that coated the land whipped in the breeze like a straw colored, green hide. My voice was utterly drowned by the ocean tide and rushing wind.IMGP2027
I felt, looking across the scape, that this was my world and I the giant that thundered through this varied, geological microcosm. I picked up a snail and examined its shell that was a mottled pink and grey. These snails, though each being a unique color, flood the landscape floor with their presence- this is their habitation and I am the reckless god that headlessly crushes them under my heel as I go my merry way.
The temperature will dip down into the 30’s tonight; the forecast predicts little rain but I’ll believe the opposite and prepare my camp likewise.IMGP2051Check out some more pictures at Foreign Sojourn