Vanishing Point

Will you join me chasing asphalt mirage pools

Where ibis bathe under bald cypress wings

Dripping old men’s beards over palm fronds.


In Jefferson County –


Dragonflies crisscross the two lane blacktop

People live out here in these swamplands

The roadside mailboxes are giveaway clues.


So many perspectives –


Pylons cut diagonals through the pine stands

Poles carry their electric charges to communities

Florida state troopers prowl like stealth bobcats.


In Leon county 10am –


The sun rifles between bare upright plantations

Shadows and lights flicker a silent movie dance

A flipbook fantasy of my moving milescapes.


V-shaped formations –


Journey ends at the last but one intersection

Gas station central on highway twenty seven

I throttle thru and set the cruise control to max.


Vanishing point



Lover’s Key

Beyond the covered decking

Quartz white crystal sands

Sparkle in the Gulf sun –

A line of rainbow umbrellas

Shield the beach goers

With their wheeled cooler boxes –

Stand up paddle boarders

And selfie stick young women

Lounge in the shallows –

Cloud builds from the south

Mid 90’s heat dips to bearable

Miniscule flies bite my ankles –

Along the shore Bonita Springs

And in the distance Naples rises

Like a mini Manhattan on the sea –

A cooling breeze blows through

Tourists disgorge from the free bus

A family prepares to leave –

I don’t have to do anything

Maybe read or write or draw

Clean air filters my thoughts –

The seagulls make the most noise

Circling and squawking their calls

Ever watchful for opportunities –


Beyond all of this the pelicans dive

They fill their shopping bag bills

With lunch from the fresh fish counter.



Hey Mr Beach Bum

you’re no fun Mr Beach Bum

with your sun bleached hair

you just don’t give a care

that you talk too loud

and your guitar sounds bad

you’re attention singing

a smokin’ and a drinkin’

years all floatin’ on by

like those jet ski tourists

creating havoc in their wakes

never stopping to wonder why

your washed up woman cries

and clings to your pot belly side

with her barnacled brown hide

all tattooed with mermaids and moons

stretched wide now she’s not so thin

and griddled with laughter lines

from your retold barfly tales

of drunken fights in Sloppy Joe’s

and rival Captain Tony’s Saloon

where Hemingway’s ghost haunts

your legendary watering holes.


each morning nightmares take you

they drag you under ever deeper

legs and arms can’t keep from tangling

in alligator swamp pools forever writhing

the mangrove roots like prison bars

in the sleeping bellies of half wrecked stars

clam baked with chowdered hulls

briny waters lap around your skull

reminders of when as a tear filled child

you laid rigid with anticipated fear

at the sound of doors opening and closing

your castaway father down the hall cursing

his alcohol sweat drenched clothes rank

you moaned with a silent rising tide of panic

dry words unable to escape your gaping mouth

waiting for the inevitable beating hands

that sometimes came in manic waves

never knowing when or why or what

or whether you would ever witness

the passing madness fading

under a blood red orange sun rising.


brown pelican silhouettes circle

your good morning vultures that beckon

from the bottom of a broken brandy bottle

lost overboard and sand buried

amongst the