Barefoot Poetry

SS Matthews


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Too Late for Sunrise

Bird, Egret

Gray wings of dawn
glide currents of flame-
ten thousand degrees above
the horizon she burns
onto heaven’s stage, vaporizing
late waking wisps of angel’s hair mist.

Sea-spray lingers in the air
misting lower levels.

There is music in this morning
to which sand pipers play
peck and dodge to the percussion of waves.

Lyre breezes strum worlds into motion
creating symphonies in slick and spiral halls
of un-chambered tide strewn shells.

Peeling away layers
is the way the wind bends,
smoothing into swells
shearing tops into sparkling trails
fanned from crests onto pelican wings
that slip single file toward a gathering.

Pastel condominiums-
first to wear the warming rays
the mirror-flash of sunrise blast
on windows blind to surfers’ dance.

surfer

Artists sketching on reams of watery canvas
through veils of vanishing shadow
slicing seams in aqua-marine
drafting arcs of white shot tight
through the curl of oncoming day.

One block away, another world awakens.
Students flock from parking lots
burdened with theories and proofs
lending today to tomorrow.

While pragmatic professors
prepare to pave this day’s face of the endless wave
enjoying last, eager sips of a decaffeinated reality.

Poetry by SS Matthews

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