Red and white flowers

grow on the bluffs

that overlook the ocean,

the only color

that breaks this granite sky.

The cliffs,

the sand,

the grass,

devoid of color,

as if this late autumn wind

has blown away the life.


This used to be

a picture postcard place,

before time and its demons

stole its soul.

The little towns,

inset along the coastline

don’t sparkle much like jewels



Maybe this year’s been hard,

and others have been, too.

The fish don’t come in shoals,

and the tourists are few.

The people here are tough

and they’ll stay until the last,

but even they have noticed

that the sky is not so blue.


Like someone poked a hole

in the world

and all the color ran out.

All the joy,

the pain,

the sadness,

and the smiles.


Yellow left,

and red was not far behind.

Blue and green disappeared overnight.

Purple, pink,

even brown and orange

bled out,

like wounded soldiers in a war.

These days,

it’s shades of grey

that paint the seaside villages.

Washed out shorelines,

dreary, listless waves.


Except here in this place,

above the crashing waves,


red and white

grow all over the place.

Like blood and purity

prevailed here.


Like love and innocence

held on to the world,

never abandoned in this

grey, and black, and beige exchange.

Life still fights on.

Love still finds away.


The ointment

for that slate-grey sky,

for that drab existence,

plagued by bland malaise,


if we could only find it

out here on the bluffs,

above the waves.



HG – 2020

3 thoughts on “Unfiltered

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