- The
hills in dark green envy
- Raise a thousand masts on high
- And slip down as if to launch
- Upon the silver tide.
- Hawsers creak and strain, green and
- Yellow sails rip, rack and roar
- As Ti Willa, imitation ship, seeks
- To let its anchor slip -- as if
- That mighty girth could navigate
- Such a narrow firth.
- In the distant sounds the Blue Breakers
- Beating a miniature surf.
- Kevin D Cummings
- November 1966
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- Depth
stands upon depth
- upon the nothing at all
- of air drawn thinning tall
- between shaven towering walls.
- Chiffon, shifting curtain waterfall
- flutter, billows, curving towards
- the flaked floor, where unsure
- gnarled feet of trees scratch upon
- the uncertain sliding
scree.
- Small isle in a southern Aegean,
- the seriphos spires lance up
- to shred the morning sun
- crashing into the gulf, blood red
- Blue veiled, mist cinctured, golden
- wattle
rosaried, the distant ranges bend
- Kevin D Cummings
- "The Waysider"
- September 1968
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