Tuesday, 5 August 2014

2 Poems by Jennifer Lagier

Ebb Tide

The Pacific holds its breath. Waves shrink.
Currents still, brown kelp in stasis.

Harbor seals snooze upon submerged rocks,
drying pelts turned to silver.

At Lover’s Point, ground squirrels report
for duty, emerge from their burrows.

There is no wind. Sun burns away mist.
Fog banks retreat, sulk in the distance.

Sea birds glide and splash down, industriously
forage among glassy tide pools.


Misty Perspective

Ocean thrift perseveres despite a crumbling coastline,
pink explosion of fluff-ball blooms within grass quotations.

Light mist skids across muted sky, collects and rests
against rolling greens, the Pebble Beach golf course.

Bright sand curves, gives way to a dark fringe of cypress.
Brown kelp ribbons sway with incoming tide surge.

Dolphins leap, dorsal fins circling around one another.
Strings of pelicans strafe the waves, disappear in a fog bank.

Surfers paddle, make the short ride to shore
on a moving pipeline of muscular water.

Bionote

Jennifer Lagier’s seven books are: Coyote Dream Cantos, Where We Grew Up, Second-Class Citizen, The Mangia Syndrome, Fishing for Portents, Agent Provocateur, and Hookup With Chinaski.  She is a retired college librarian/instructor, member of the Italian American Writers Association, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, Rockford Writers Guild and helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings.

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