Down in the channel the tide inhales and
seaflowers fixed in the surge and swirling
rush wave frantic at tenant fish tripping.
Electric jets out of their heads on boogaloo
are sucked down darker maws. Diced by razor jaws
they end in bits, an eye, a bladder stinking
on the sand where we, hands idly swinging,
still linger. I suck salt from your fingers and —
— side-tracked by an ocean of air and rain
over and over acacias in the storm
beat bright flowers at the window pane.
Tho sealed in the room I’m distracted more
by pleasures fast fading (you bite my ear)
than some panic of flowers at the window pane.
Image: Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash
And if you’ve ever wondered what boogaloo is, here’s the inimitable C.W. Stoneking to explain.
Peter Frankis writes 
Love the panic of flowers and the tide inhaling and pretty much all of the rest, although there is one line I cannot understand even after four readings and so I am feeling dumb but nonetheless consider the poem well worth reading four times and what poet can ask for more???
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High praise indeed (this is a rewrite of an earlier, even more obscure verse – so only one off line shows some slow progress as a poet). 😊
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Your poetry always requires several readings – more than one layer and three scene changes
you bring us up from the depths to the shore
– a bladder stinking
on the sand where we, hands idly swinging,
still linger.
and then its a closed room of intimacy – “than some panic of flowers at the window pane.” beautifully describes the weather outside with plants knocking at the window
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Thanks so much Laura, glad you liked.
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