Poetry: A Life in Nature
By Dean Sutton
The Honey Hours
Golden times shine, free passes and wind chimes.
The eyelids rise with the sun, going surfing, sailing some. Switch boards and feel alright. Ridin, ridin, ridin, into the night. Over by the pier, a scene is here. Helicopter overhead and police boats, searching for bodies out of their view. Thanks for the spotlights, shocka bru. It’s nine thirty, the fiery rock in the sky fell, and a blue full moon comes out as well, and I’m still in the water, feelin swell.
Cravings for the Cave
Gazing the saltwater sun dyed eyes off into the northwest horizon. Do I honestly ride a bike that far? Ten miles even looks impossible, but looks are deceiving. Black clouds above the white city lights. Chasings of the waves, chasings for the waves. Cravings of the cave, cravings for the cave.
Early before dawn, I met a man with dark skin and thick dreads. He said the sun and the moon tell him the meek will rule the world. In his culture it was New Years. It almost seemed like the rising sun was dancing with the fading stars, as the flute he played made the yellow snake rise, slither its tongue, and spit its golden rays of saliva across a dim glowing purple sky
So what is darkness? Darkness on the outside is only physical. If you paddle out at night, dive underwater, and still feel as relaxed as you did on land, you obtain a true sense of peace – one type that speaks from the heart, makes the soul listen, and the brain agree.
If you want to read more poetry from the dingo diaries or other short stories, feel free to mail me at olgriz@gmail.com
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