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poet: BOB BRADSHAW
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BOB BRADSHAW
Spring Hike To The Coast 
I cross into a patch of thistle, its white heads swaying slightly, a congregation of old men and women nodding in prayer. Beyond them are milkmaids and the improbable calypso orchids. I pass the well traveled silver lupine, past a trickle of water that spills out onto the coast's lap. From here I look out on the Pacific and think of Drake and the fistful of scattered Japanese islands flung westward. I must do something with my life.

Copyright 2006, all rights revert to the poet.
_
JH-A poem of irony. BOB BRADSHAW paints a living seascape of flowers 'nodding' and islands broadcast into the west. Against the activity is the 'I must DO SOMETHING...' as if the seascape is not described so artistically. Beyond creating art, what must one DO with solitary moments such as these? Nothing more than what BRADSHAW does with his moment - create life.
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BOB BRADSHAW
Inside The Japanese Cultural Exchange Center 
A marvelous girl with black hair held a silver flute between her long fingers. She was playing a song about winter. A bird landed on the tip of her flute as if it were a branch, the falling dust of snow concealing it. I know it was there because it sang as the girl played, the girl swaying in a light breeze, her slim waist wrapped in a flower print skirt of ageless cherry blossoms. I stood as the song ended applauding wildly. A hand touched my arm. Dear, we have to go. My wife and I walked from the Center arm in arm, wilting slightly as we were greeted by summer heat.

Copyright 2006, all rights revert to the poet.
_ POET BOB BRADSHAW is a programmer living in Redwood City, CA. Recent and forthcoming work of his can be found at Eclectica, Slow Trains, Underground Window and Half Drunk Muse

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