On Cape Ferret

(Along The French Coast, Early Autumn)

(Poem by Wendy Howe )

Tourists have vanished with Summer.
Only the ocean wind
walks the beach, her voice
a ferry that transports whispers
from a nineteenth century day

to this scalp of sand
and grass parted on the left, blowing
inland while sea gulls hear the pitch
of girl and sculptor bickering
over cracked china
in their lunch basket. Something about
whose fault and flaws left
marking crafted perfection.
His model shows a temper
and like the Limoge  plate,
he despises how a frown
can diminish the design
of her porcelain face.

Further down, a painter
swears at his canvas
hating the emptiness it offers.
His inspiration adrift
like the schooner floating on the tide
with sails rolled up
against a clear sky that seems
marred by his own lack
of perspective.

Casually, the breeze wanders
between rows of gold shrubbery
and finds a  young man sitting
with script in hand, his  shirtsleeves
unbuttoned, hanging loose
as arms absorb the breath
of salt and shadow haunting
the air, allowing him to feel
the mood of characters
who stayed here, who inspire him
to write and listen with an actor's love
for the wind.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.

To know more  about this poem,   about Wendy Howe

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"Cap-Ferret le Magnifique"

(Drawing by )


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