bike rider patrols
lake monroe but by himself:
others wrap presents?
She musta come from
Up Nawff, say, meebe DeLand:*
tattoos not from here!
*(DeLand, Florida, is just across The St. Johns River and North of Lake Monroe. When kids of 20 or so and feeling frisky he’d hit the highlife nitespots like Green’s Grocery on US 17-92 just across the river en route to Club Diamond below The Hill below DeBary and continue on a nice nighttime ramble through Orange City and later DeLand, where somehow we were accorded adult status – our green folding ID cards with fives and 10s on them served just fine so long as we ran not afoul of one of the County Constables.)
Sunrise breeze stirs lake
as tall, fit lass drags
her mute toy-toy pooch!
A river flows through
Lake Monroe: On its South Shore,
A People ‘stream’ too!
Further back, I rest old bones,
unworn from the walk downtown.
A river flows through
Lake Monroe: On its South shore
a people stream too!
Such varied canvass,*
constant crewe who ‘RiverWalk!
Silent Silver Screen!
*(And, yes, I mean an examination and not the cloth kind, though that would be my second choice. River Walk is the now expanded multi-mile walk along the South Bank of the 11-miles long (4-miles wide) shallow depression called a lake along The St. Johns River in Central Florida, USA. The natives’ name for the river Welaka loosely translated as Chain of Lakes and was their Summer homes, far from the ravages of hurricanes. In Winter, they would migrate to the Atlantic or Gulf coasts to fish and shellfish and take generally milder climes. Smart people. Here, many go mountaining in North Carolina for their Summer respites, though a goodly portion hold forth at New Smyrna Beach, just south of its more gaudy, famous and dangerous Daytona Beach. Thus endeth the lesson: there will be no collection. Turn now please to Hymn 734.)
“Something About Sanford”
Along its curved path from Spanish bell towers to silent
vigiling angels who’ve fought in our wars,
this Melon-slice of Monroe’s Lake
comes slowly to life, like many of us,
ignoring or, at best, appeasing the sun’s full-throated roar
behind shading pillars and fangled new porch swings.
Dew-dropped diamonds under a lightly speckled sky –
centaurs gallop across the view as sail yatchits slumber
on a mirror-scape, a hinted shimmer its only giveaway:
a succulent late Spring in Sanford between mulberries and muscadines
and old terrorist time sheds still-abandoned hibiscus
after the great azalea massacre of yesteryear just a park up the street,
and friends old and new push past this piece of tannic heaven.
richwrapper 