Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I stare, a pensive owl
from a branch of an old sycamore
beyond its prime, it's a bit foggy

alternative windows open
to a vast expanse of images,
a catamaran waiting for the wind

which seems to sleep a lot more these days...
i glide along the waves rudderless
but open to what each horizon may bring

i have no plans,
no maps, no stars, no sextant
I am comfortably adrift in the moment

my flashbacks are 3D,
one enters my space from 1969
it's a ballyhoo skipping across

the teal glass water of the gulf
on his tail, laughing like a briny ghost
from a christmas carol, what happened

to my hair, has anyone seen my vocabulary ?
time. you sneaky little bastard
I never see you coming, you always

get the jump on me

twisted a few things around

lost somethings in time
suppose these are my declining years
night vision not what it was
my nose broke so many times it looks like a cork screw
fell flat on my face in January
full face down on the hood of my car
broke my nose
so now after forty years I can breathe through both nostrils
fortuitous accident save me ten grand in medical bills
also I can't remember what I did with my putz.

1971 Severn River Annapolis, 24 foot wood Sharpie sloop
Day after Christmas warn sun shinny day
a fat boy at the tiller
yes eidetic images like the backs of playing cards, sometimes I shuffle them and deal myself pleasant dreams watch them on the back of my eyelids

enjoyed the poem, it was inspiring,
but I ramble, like old men do

great response truck....some accidents are just the right thing...for sure...