Bonfire on the Beach


It was twilight.  The sea embraced the sun and our last fling

ere August passed away.

We combed the beach

(we five now scattered as the shells)

and gathered driftwood for the night

like the bone-white sand dollars  shorn of their beauty

we had earlier gathered.


how driftwood is renewed

between bonfires.

We bore the sea-bleached wood like jewels

(they once were jade-green jewels

In forests far away)

to the ragged pit we’d hastily scooped.


I, the fire-master,

gathered up the orts that quickly flared,

added larger bits and then a log or two.  Then we,

like the parents of our race,

looked up into the sky to catch each star’s


We sang.

We danced

to crashing waves

and a coffee can turned into a drum.

In the fire’s flicker our faces changed

and all our ancient ancestors peered out of our eyes

sang out our throats.


Then came the clouds and rain and all was as

when  man first peered out of a tree

upon a glorious storm in Eden’s lost grandeur.

We embraced the rain

racing waves like sanderlings

yet coming back again

and yet again

unto our tribal fire.


And now, we five,

scattered as the shells we gathered then,

our past the shell I now display

shorn of all its beauty.


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Filed under dance, Music, Poetry, The Ocean

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