New Beginnings

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”

- Emily Dickinson

Could I bring my poetry to Paradise,

or is it just a madcap dream,

a reaction against a cafe culture,

the ironic pose -

a southern signature

of icy veins and cool disdain

blowing in Antarctic winds?

Could I be reborn

in the Sunshine State,

where the yearning sets of crystal waves

lap long white beaches,

carve jagged rocks in astral shapes,

where surfers come to dive, drop in,

stoked on spray, on pure delight,

the roiling joy of golden mornings?

Could I find a poetry of new beginnings

in the frolic of the iron men's steel,

in knife-edged thrills

that tease and tempt

the blurred dark shapes

of a predatory ocean,

as lean young limbs

ignore the peril,

send spirit reeling to apricot skies?

Could I offer the sturdy northern tribe
the power of words, fresh thoughts to gather?

And would they listen, or

just half smile, be kind,

text emoticons that chart contempt

while I chase freedom,

airy ways,

the light and shade of coastal wonders,

remembering only too well

how a southern dawn breaks

hard and grey

in my chilly urban seas?

© bba,  07/02/2012