Friday, July 20, 2007

hourglass beach

she grabs her slippers
adjusts her navel
says i am a jeweled toy
hungry for despair
we - as is her wish -
do not talk about it
there is little
in that brittle manicure world
that is up for discussion

i am the dog of old wrinkles
my loose flesh
seems to shiver in the sun
the light hides the truth
the cicadas sing
the agean sea crashes softly
a horsefly bites my ankle

the litany of time
is quietly chanted
over cards and beer
by picnic table swimsuit old couple
at the shore
of the narrow measure of sand

8 comments:

gautami tripathy said...

Contrasting images..very well brought out. The last stanza juxtaposes, I think.

An aside: have you lost the map to my blog?

Russell Ragsdale said...

Hi Gautami! Thanks for the comment. Sorry I haven't been to visit you for a while. I'll come see you soon. I'm looking forward to see what you've been writing lately.

ozymandiaz said...

Russel, this one is simply awesome. it has depth without drowning and a wonderful self deprivating humor. A beautiful capture of a moment.
it also bring recent memories of a visit to a nude beach...
talk about loose flesh!

terrymcdermott said...

You have done a brillant job about the life at the beach in a poetic for. Great Job!

Russell Ragsdale said...

Hey Ozy! Thanks for that fabulous comment! Time at the beach is a great topic, after all life's a beach, rendering the metephore to larger proportions. Thanks for that, my friend.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Terry! I'm glad to get such enthusiastic responses. Thanks for posting your glad words.

Pat Paulk said...

Too many of us old wrinkled dogs sniffing around. We are running out of sand...

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks for that Pat! Serious sand shorage indeed - it only takes a few moments at the beach to notice that. But we're both grandpops and we're supposed to have that figured out already! Thanks for the great comment, my friend.