The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 2178


Volume-3                                                      DECEMBER -2013                                           Number-2


Coastal Navigations

by Doug Bolling

Wind driven, sea wrack, echoes
receding among shadows.
Two dogs barking at swiftly falling kite.
Umbrellas hiding their secrets.

Sand castles shovels pails driftwood algae
weather ragged. Small cries of children
crush of parental commands.

Tide smack. Liftings shoreward.
Unknowns of ocean mouth.

What the sorrows of world they ask
behind the taut tent flaps,
how far to weigh the years
of our arrivals here.

0ur searchings outward for ships,
their salt messages
their promise of
something else.


by Doug Bolling


The man on the bicycle rides high
in the frame his feet twin miracles
lofting him over the miles,
spaces and times few
might imagine.

He pedals slow. He pedals fast.
His eyes two beams slicing through
fog and rain brilliant sunlight
as he rounds the bend of a
thousand towns.

He rides through mountains
through streets of sorrows
and dreams.
He rides among the lush grasses
of his long ago childhood.

The man is a cyclist who rides
always alone, the stranger
nobody knows but seeks.
He wears a winged helmet
that gleams by sunlight
by evening flame.

The people line the streets
wherever he goes.
They need to see him.
They need to believe
he has seen them.

The man has no name,
needs none.
He is the secret that lies inside
the faces that wait beside
the roads to wave him on,

that retreat into closed rooms
of night to sleep and dream
of the single one who
pedals and pedals
toward that