Poetry and Writes

Langley, WA (POEM)

We parked the car by a
flowered lot, the air
reverent about us.

A quiet tourist town,
sunlit and white in daylight
hours--now, a sleeping land.

All its ancient inhabitants
with whitened wind-worn hair
have retired into their homes,
leaving silence there.

Our reverie compelled us
to walk the lamp-loved streets
in a daze; our reverie compelled
us to seek the horizon haze.

To the banks of town we were
pulled, where the water lapped alone--
emanating forlorn mist and a tentative
sort of cold.

The lamps were tall, heads hanging
ever down, as if solemn in their part
to guard the bay-swept town.

The sky was darkening more now,
but in the softest way--as if the
night sung a lullaby to calm
the dainty day.

Muted light pressed its palms
to the glass below the stars,
hushing gulls and wave lappings
and distant trundling cars.

The water hummed so faintly,
ever, and whispers strung weightless
the trees--gentle voices from my family
the bassline melody.

I threw a rock into the water
but that was the only sound
to scare any tide marauder.

I heard a crow leap from a stone
and wing into a tree, but save for
that newest interruption, all was
tranquility.

We soon felt as if we were
intruding on something holy
(the way the sea sung to the sky,
we could not understand it fully)
so we walked up wooden steps
back into the tiny city.

Here the lights were brighter now
as night overtook day, here the
tree blossoms were whiter
and their laden limbs did sway.

Every business was closed, but
this didn't bother us--we were content
to wander town with its sculptures of
glass and rust--

And the Christmas lights
wrapped round the trees
was company enough.