By Douglas Young
Out of Reach
I saw a gorgeous sunset That reminded me of you – Too beautiful to forget And out of reach, too. You are the ethereal golden moon, Forever amber and always in June, A lovely voice on the radio singing a lovesick tune, Romantic as a rainbow, and gone just as soon. As fresh as a garden in early spring, Yet vanishing like a comet at night, Your memory lasts like a golden ring, Or hot coals still glowing bright. You’re the most vibrant bloom that does not fade – Or an ever lively, pretty parade – Then suddenly absent for another year, Like a fleeting glimpse of a fabulous deer. As if sitting on the porch in summertime And savoring the tranquil twilight, Time with you is truly sublime, Yet all too soon takes flight. You recall a roller coaster ride – Intense, thrilling, and thoroughly fine – But then it’s over so fast – oh for more time -- As if you were swept far out with the receding tide. How I long for an endless merry-go-round, One we could ride together, forever bound, No longer absent, a love apart, But at last united, body and heart.
See the yellow weeds across the field, However wind-swept, they will not yield, But remain in place, tenacious and tall, Their beauty undimmed, not blemished at all. When the rains come, They do not succumb, But sit out the storm In undisturbed form. In sunlight, they are splendidly bright, A golden sea of glorious delight; And, later, after dark, on a cloudless night, They can even glow under a full moon’s light. They are content to remain in place, Never complaining, exuding grace; A Buddhistic calm defines their being – Listen close, and you can hear them singing.
The Beach Parade
At dawn an old lady walks her dog along the beach, Smiling and savoring the breeze, she has found her niche; Later young lovers stroll the shore hand in hand While lasses seek a tan lounging in the sand. Soon families arrive and children jump the waves As boys dare each other to explore nearby caves; Surfers excitedly take their boards way out to sea Watched by grandparents in lawn chairs content just to be. After lunch the clientele changes With a whole new set spanning ages; Many will play and others think; Some just try not to turn too pink. In the evening comes yet another cast: Loners walking alone, trying to forget the past, Students roasting marshmallows, laughing loudly, Couples bathed by moonlight, kissing soundlessly. So much intrigue, frivolity, and thought, A thousand different dramas are each day wrought; But the shore remains tranquil and somehow beyond reach, Still welcoming all, beckoning us to the beach.