Blue Heron

The soft beating wings
Of the Heron taking flight
Pasture grass, waving

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

Formation Steaming, Arabian Sea

Watching the leader through my destroyer’s, Big Eyes

Waiting for signal to execute and proceed

The flashing light comes. “Execute!” my talker cries

The bridge responds, shifting course and slowing speed

Twenty ships simultaneously make course east

As headings steady, I await the next command

The formation’s wakes clawing the sea like a beast

Another light, I shout the leader’s next demand

These types of close maneuverings, are tricky things

One wrong signal could result in a collision

I rub my eyes, below the engine order rings

Another signal and we dance in precision

Maintaining the columns, we plow, south, south east

All anticipating our next liberty feast

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

 

Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series

The Moment

Chubby cheeks pause milking
From mother’s hanging breast

Heartbeats are balancing
The drunken fan’s bawling

A fist swinging laugher
Pauses to meditate

The batter is ready
Slightly crouched by the plate

Pennants flutter gently
In the afternoon breeze

The pitcher checks first base
Then the delivery


© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

Their Last Day

He was lying on his newly mowed grass
Stretched on his back, still running hose in hand
Starring at the sky, an unblinking pawn
A peaceful setting, to finally rest

The grass was soaked from the running water
So, I went to find the faucet to close
Following the hose past lush garden color
Grape vines, and stalks of multicolored rose

There, on the back patio, a table
Upon which a cocktail sat half finished
Twisting the tap, the water now secure
A movement I spy, through the window pane

Sitting in the recliner, a woman
Watching afternoon baseball with a drink
Two brown Labradors sleeping at her feet
They were unaware of their master’s fate

I return to his side and feel for pulse
Silent, still, stiff, and cold, it was too late
Stepping to the front door, I ring the bell
Amid barking dogs, she opens the screen

“Yes. Who are you?” she asked irritated
“I’m here to inform about your husband”
I replied to her, with a friendly smile
“You’re her husband?” she inquired nervously

“Yes,” I replied. “And you must be his wife”
“I have been expecting you, please come in”
“Shall I call my husband in from the yard?”
“I don’t believe that will be required now”

“Are they both gone?” she asked, pouring a drink
Taking the drink, I replied, “Their last day”

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The In the Weird Series

Unplugged

Hey, I bother you, just a couple of secs?
Can you please point me towards ole Route 66?


Thanks!


Think I will just cruise down that path for a few miles
I like taking time more than making time these days
No time to peruse, racing down some interstate
I like taking in sights and smells on the scooter

Seems like most people these days are in a hurry to go nowhere
While they’re going there, most are talking on their phones to somebody
When they hang up, it rings; another person does the same to them
Why, does nowhere need to be gotten to so fast on the phone?

I like to listen to things that are in nature
I see lots of people with things plugged in their ears
How do they hear anything in the world that way?
Riding around in them cages, isolated


Well, ole Harley Davidson and I, we'll just cruise
This road has plenty of sites, weather don’t matter
I guess some people don’t understand about life
It’s meant to be lived, learned, and most of all, enjoyed

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: A View From the Wind Series

The Die Has Been Cast

This morning while strolling
Alone, on a quiet spring morning walk

I'm reminded of the regularity of our four seasons
Steered by the earth’s preordained path and tilt around the sun
I pause to ponder my own journey down the ambling path of this life  
The meandering trail of my struggle to understand the purpose of existence
I've often reflected upon the turns I’ve taken down that long vine-like path
It's become extremely clear, no matter which turn on the lane that I take

I am fated to always return again, to my original path of destiny

A miraculous inherent die, was precast before my voyage was set to begin

I'm merely a rebellious ram, being herded by an invisible watching Sheppard

Feebly trying to separate from the herd to higher grounds and sweet grasses

With an invisible staff in hand, the Sheppard guiding back to the valley

One would think after so many attempts, I would just resign my quest

My resolute heart has grown old, and tires more easily nowadays

Yes, the die has been cast in a strong and tempered steel

And my restless journey will some day end

  

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

 

Soul Catcher

Trees are the catchers, of lost human souls

Death, prior to allotted times, entraps them 
Their spirits, in nets of clinging branches
Mouthing silent pleas, to earthly passers

Nightly they peer, toward the magnetic stars
All craving, to one day roam the cosmos
Its magnificence calling them, upward

They wail, to reunite with their loved ones
Memories of their earthly existence
Like sirens, ever calling them homeward

Copyrights by G. Jones 2012
Images by flickr.com

Author's Note: The In the Weird Series