On The Beach

Mymuse has come home…


Heat sits in the bones.

It’s a supple old age,

all ice cream cones

and leaves of crispy sage.

So let’s be doing –

renewing ancient wooing.

Lapping at the saucer

of old cat’s cream.


Living the dream

isn’t a reverie.

It’s every day reality.

Though sunburn stings

on things we should

have covered; yet haven’t 


For when you’ve 

other fish to fry – 

then you and I are we.

And we’re beyond 

the need for carping

creed and familial critique…


That’s weak and watery

and pales our golden vision.

© franciman 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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Subtle internal rhyming – loved it and the triple alliteration in “carping creed and familial critique…”

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