Blackbird Island
has many trails.
Many long,
many steep.
If you find your way out
to the coast,
a sandy shore, a bank,
a rocky reach, don’t overreach—
Blackbird Island gives no more
than a sailor’s sleep.
Keep your cool, watch your step,
watch your leap—
she has many secrets
yet to keep.
Poetic Bloomings: Are We Cool?
I took my inspiration from Blackbird Island in Washington state, though it isn’t treacherous or ominous. Also, no birds were harmed in the making of this poem. :-P
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Photo © Jennifer Wagner |
I loved red long before Sammy sang of it,
my hair turning back to it,
sign and signal, siren rang of it.
Old brick station, ladder truck and engine,
your beard, my lips, leather jacket tassel tips,
’65 Mustang, candy apple red.
Blushing secret, unwrapped,
sugared red to pink. The sink
into red-petaled, satin, Valentine sheets.
Glass of cabernet, raspberry to plum,
Burt’s Bees Hibiscus Balm.
Autumn leaves, rubies.
Terra-cotta, sandstone,
sweet tomato bliss,
my broken favorite mug, blood,
and afterward, the kiss.