I turn to look behind as I sail. I see the white foam and wavelets, The bits of floating seaweed. I imagine the fleeing creatures Momentarily pushed aside Then forgetting the moment.
This is my life. Along my path I can easily see the recent past And I try to imagine its effect. Further back it fades, Too far to see Too much to remember. Ahead, the sky and sea meet. There is foam on the water. Whose life was that?
Filed under Poems
When octopuses wish to play
They seek out others such as they
And wave their multifarious arms
To advertise their octy charms.
Their camouflage they do disdain
And change to colors bright as flame.
They thus assure potential mates
Of flashy, fancy mutual dates.
With eight-fold limbs that sway and prance
They weave their octopussy dance.
If you should see them thus arrayed
Pray, do not be too much dismayed.
They’ll soon abandon such pretense
And revert to their shy, drab defense.
Dispatches From Key West 