Dr. Piatt has had poems nominated for Pushcart and Best of Web awards, and published in The 100 Best Poems Anthologies. He has published 3 poetry books “The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,”
(2014), and “LIGHT” (2016), 3 novels, 35 short stories, 7 essays, and over 865 poems. He earned his BS and MA from California Polytechnic University and his doctorate from BYU. His poetry books are available
on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.
The salty mist suspends over the ocean shore, like London’s fog then vanishes quickly as the sun comes out from behind diaphanous clouds warming the shore. Gulls, terns, and sandpipers quarrel over broken seashells with tiny crabs hiding inside: An abandoned red plastic pail absently flung beside the shale outcroppings of the cliff above the shore reflecting a child’s quickly changing interest. Neglected spoons for carving sand castles lay in the warm sand, remnants of a child’s dreaming mind. Children splash in the incoming tide, unaffected by the chilly seawater while an elderly couple sitting under a large yellow umbrella with huge sun hats, large dark glasses, and white noses, watch with envy. Kayaks bouncing on white haired waves glide deftly over the ocean’s skin, fishing boats far off bob up and down as they claim their salty prey with nets repaired with knots made over a lifetime. Four Dolphins speedily skim adroitly over the briny water, leaping in the air, keeping sunbathers in awe. Happy memories slowly build, unknown at the time, in the mind’s of all those who are enjoying their special day at the beach.
When the sky was black with Unfinished promises, and dark Absurdities, I heard a tapping in My aging mind… long forgotten Memories, washed upon my Mind’s cluttered shore: The rain Came down, and drenched the Earth with bones and skulls … I Became soaked with dread:
From where did these emotional Tappings arise, from what dark Canyon in my cave of old Mysterious thoughts did they Seep into my Soul? Away…away Dark images… fade into Sky…vanish Into the cobwebs of The night’s moonbeams: Do not Color my last hours with stressful Echoes, which darken my final moments… But, then I heard a faint tapping…
Absurdity called stridently,
Oozing through an unlocked window,
It brought a rusted atmosphere of fear,
While pundits of dread ate rotten apples,
Within its immoral fetid exhaling,
It emitted fear and heartbreak,
It called for your hand,
You succumbed, regrets formed in sky,
The staircase to heaven folded into stillness,
The earth crumbled in confusion,
The garish smiling clown leered,
Causing the sun to weep, but then
Dawn approached and absurdity left,
Whispering curses as it vanished.
The sunset sweeps into the pink horizon, leaving the gawking gulls and timorous terns lost in the droning of the tedious waves bursting onto the cool yellow sand. The day fades into the pinkish gray of evening and somewhere above the roar of the tide, in the silence of sky, rests the memories I left last summer.
The days are shorter, the hours smaller, somewhere around the corner; summer veered into autumn then fell into winter. The winter’s coldness soaks into my bones rusting them like the brine rusts the iron tossed upon the seashore, corroded remnants of a mighty ship that rests on the bottom of the sea.
Time, the one thing in which we have no control, tramples on one’s life and upon all things resting on the bottom of the ocean, and on the top of the earth. Rusted iron and weakened bones are the aftermath of time… nothing can escape its relentless fury.
It’s 4 A.M. in the morning,
And, I am still awake…
I keep worrying about my voice,
I was once told I needed to find my Voice…
But, it keeps falling into future Hours…
What is voice?
I don’t think I write voice…
I write emotions,
Is that voice?
Or is it just the clanging,
Of lost feelings…
Echoing inside my rusted poetic Soul?