My Poems

January, Latitude 47

The wind is washing
waves over me,
moving birds and
branches with a
jet engine pushhhhhhh…
tumbling, not sand, 
but sky high sentinels
shouting in whispers, 
not of water but waves
on sullen shores of sky
far, far from the summer
season a world of blue
water away.

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One Comment

  • Laura Boggess

    Shouting in whispers…how is it that this makes perfect sense? 🙂 Beautiful, Jody. Just beautiful.

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