washed over

awakened by sailors milky tears

from depths beyond the sun

she rose red ribbon bound

born of shell and bone,

sand shifted

muted fish schools scattered

his embrace she sought,

scarecrow masted vessel

dashed upon sharp geology,

to safety they leaped,

cruel sky streaked by storm

and acoustic rumble,

body battered in dinghy lay

hand outstretched

fingertips testing jagged surface,

light shone and radiated

in her eyes as close rose

long limbed form kelp caressed

finding him now face down

closer towards him,

lifting his frame from sea to shore

air sharp on lungs

heart pounding,

ship exploded a desolate fireball

as she bowed over him

lips to his,

spluttering coughing

found himself exhausted

and willing in her eyes

bonded by kiss

in eternities grasp

sailor, sea, passion, love, desire

water, woman, sailing, dream

orchards of rockland maine 1892

fruit of pomona

yielding to reach and touch ,

never to be split between friends and lovers

that homer once wrote of them,

slight tug separation from tree

a tree that would outlive the fingers

among the branches,

each gathered in wicker basket

green and red flesh perfumed

one of softer flesh skin slipped off

pulled open juice spilled nested in pulp

not seed but foetal form,

an emerging conterpart who would grow

in truth,

licking away textured pale pulp revealing all

form grew and writhed,

this was nothing that pliny had written of or the

romans seen yet she knew,

as a woman in her warm spelt bosom,

the coming thunder was starting with overlaid clouds

to raise it’s crescendo,

female foetus of of rockland maine

with mind akin would grow so well,

her fingers had known degas face,

eyes seen the waves of suppression ,

in this basket another voice grew

oil impressionism

captured scene milhaud tones

creation and completion

the veritable truth,

that fruit of pomona spoke so well

no more a planet of empty milk and bread

in the spirit of the gods

many would red lip sacrifice

banner to trumpet call

it was settled now

magpie tales statue stamp 185

state visit

grand palace of united creatures

stage to the supper of presidents and kings,

finest foods the forest could provide

cutlery shone on butlers jacket

and in their finery they arrived

stoat,

weasel,

ferret,

mole, badger and toad,

to eat and speak confidences made

treaties broken amended and signed,

it would be a glorious affair

trumpets and choir,

long oak table shone,

voices hushed as speaker spoke

in long oration,

nodding and quietly assured

they waited to speak there turn

as fine turnip soup was served

laden with cream and pinch of pepper,

toad wanted to be center of attention

without his contributions all others

would fail,

badger muttered under his breath,

too many times when the others had

been awash he had bailed them out,

mole was pleased with his display

all seemed so merry

without fox who stayed away to

the east snapping grumpily at

his pack,

blackberry wine flowed

differences appeared

it declined as dessert appeared

your just a stoat someone shouted

badger roared overturning table

seed cake rolled

as food fight ensued old hatred emerged

mole hovered in the middle

watched as all crumbled about him

anger consumed as reddened faces

spat angry words,

tomorrow there would be war

someone would be overthrown,

and what of mole

confused in his coalition with

the silent absent owl

should he return to the

underground creatures

that adored him,

not knowing how to stave off

economical collapse

or tidal surge of opposition

meekly snuffling

into a hand stitched handkerchief

knew his days would end in

prison

Helen Ward

Helen Ward

magpie tales statue stamp 185