Every week for years…a poem.

Now a self-licensed gull walks on
the hood and trunk of my car as the
poem is penned.

Same gull,  same spot,  same day…
week in,  week out…

Squawk!

In the quiet of this season
On this crystalline seashore

I see the gull is me.

crows as well
blurt like hell
while youngin’s travel
in tow in gravel

yellow rays
beam about
toasts the face
on morning’s route

churnin’ channel
rollin’ rough
six-inch dimples
cake-gel tough

rise then fall
pristine waves
full moon’s slack
low tides on the way

Foggy soggy
Starts the day
Seagull landing
Scares me,  hey!

Inside this cloud
Soft ocean roars
Beyond crows proud
Pelicans soar

The newly perched intruder
Will not let me be
Just turnin’ and a struttin’
While starin’ straight at me

Typical of Bo birds flight
Hover light then sit tight
Shake that booty for a bite
A light tight sight delight

Slowly this fog will lift
For sunshine’s way up there
As a walker skips a drift
She smiles then she flips her hair

Right here today on the Bo Bay