Morro Bay in August
A finger of fog smears the lower half of
Morro rock
her top soars into sunshine
A fog horn blows its one note repertoire
backup for the power plant
kayakers cruise the ripples
a seal pops up two feet away
looks you in the eye as if he knows
you’re a fellow air-sucker
white pelicans roost on a sand spit
split for lunch across the bay
cormorants cruise all day
seagulls dive divinely
among
old yachts that
have come to
Morro Bay
to die
Photo by Mike Baird
|
Beauty
It may be, simply,
in the eye of the beholder
or in the ear
of the blind
in shapes for the sculptor
moves for the dancer
sounds for the composer
texture, color, form
for the artist and architect
equations for the Einsteins
bridges and roads for engineers
soupcons for chefs preparing a banquet
for the Commander in Chief
in the eyes of astronauts
admiring their Mother Earth
and in a gardener caressing
the stem of a perfect rose
in a child’s love for a doll
dressed to the hilt
for a litter of kittens
or for one big dog
in a lover’s eye
for a naked man or woman
in marble or flesh
and in all women’s
eyes for babies
in a spider’s web
or a grove of trees gilded
by slanting sunlight
in words for the writer
astonished by
beauty’s power
to strike the heart of all,
including the criminally insane,
sensing it redeems them
if only for a moment |
