Crisp Sea Air
at the very same spot,
we rounded a curve:
crisp sea air stole our lungs--
blew them up like fire fans.
Its scent so indescribable--
chalk lines in a memory bank.
Undid the urban urine stench
of tar, exhaust, misguided moons.
The gray-haired lawn
had inner peace.
Split-ends of seaweed in our laps
made tresses for our favorite dolls.
undressed our dreams.
We listened as the sea unzipped
a treasure money could not buy.
by Shirley Malone
Graham cracker crumbs
became our shore.
in muggy drafts.
Algae bearded ocean rocks
like pubic hair
we had to touch
before a coffin hoarded it.
You taught us how
to use our toes
and draw a sunset
on the beach.
The mineral bath
of ocean salt--
a Viking ship
cut loose from moors.
by Janet I. Buck
Janet Buck teaches writing and literature at the
college level. Her poetry, humor, and essays have appeared in The Pittsburgh
Quarterly, The Melic Review, Sapphire Magazine, The Recursive Angel, Southern
Ocean Review, Lynx: Poetry from Bath, Apples & Oranges, Oranges & Apples, The
Rose & Thorn, Mind Fire, Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks, Perihelion,
Oracle, Poetry Motel, Feminista!, Calliope, The Beaded Strand, 2River View,
Kimera, Free Cuisinart, In Motion, Athens City Times, Conspire, Idling,
remark, BeeHive, Gravity, A Writer's Choice, Niederngasse, Shades of
December, Maelstrom, The Oracular Tree, Pogonip, Poetry Today Online, Word
Salad, Papyrus, Island Life, A Little Poetry, The Arm's Extent, Dead Letters,
Parallax, the storyteller, the indigo pig, The Part-time Post-modernist, The
Animist, and hundreds of print journals and e-zines world-wide. "On the
page," she says, "is where a letter drops to its knees. Catharsis,
consciousness, and insight are braided threads of a trinity, a broomstick
which encourages others to swat convoluted cobwebs in attics of their own
lives. Writing is a private scream with a universal echo that emerges from
humble accordions of inner-need.