Image by romio900 at deviantart.com

Thinking about sea dreams and sea wrecks tonight
how they both lie beneath the waters (of sleep, of ocean and gulf)
and how moonbeams are the slim oars that reach them both
stirring the currents that carry our various boats...

Calling all sommeliers! Check this out from NewsDaily:

"CHARLESTON, S.C. (AP) — A California winery on Tuesday recovered four cases of Cabernet Sauvignon that were submerged in Charleston Harbor three months ago in the first phase of an experiment to determine the effect of ocean aging on wine.

Divers recovered four yellow steel cages containing the wine that was put in 60 feet of water back in February by the Mira Winery of St. Helena, Calif.

Jim "Bear" Dyke Jr., the Charleston resident who owns the winery, says the wine will now be sampled and chemically analyzed.

Later this year, he said, more wine will be submerged in the harbor for twice as long as the winery continues to experiment with ocean aging." Read the entire story here.

Image via Etsy.com

Glinkle and Clink
By Annette Marie Hyder

The tinkle and plink you hear
is the glinkle and clink
of mermaids
toasting and drinking
a case of fine wine
left at the bottom of the sea.
Surely, they told each other
when they swam up on it,
This offering is for we three!

And the wine that got hauled
to land after that
was not as it appeared to be.
Those bottles were filled right up to the top,
when they opened them back on the shore,
with tears from the mermaids
which they cried upon seeing

Image via AlaskaFreezeFrame on Pinterest


For Granted
By Annette Marie Hyder

They grow everywhere in Florida
chorus lines of guitar necks with velvet frets
wearing Marilyn skirts forever rising in an attitude
of windblown that lifts and flips
the crinkled silk they wear.
They get drunk on rain
their soaked heads nodding
in color so lavish it seems like an affectation.
They lean casually after the storms, their skirts spread
to dry in the sun, pink and packing a Ru Paulian surprise
and so soft, so sweet, so ballerina even
in their yellows, reds and blues, their oranges and whites.

We wore them casually in our hair
tucked them, like petaled pencils,
behind our ears in absentminded fashion
heaped them on top of dressers in bowls of water
and in our bath
floated them like candles
burning with color instead of flame.
We substituted them as umbrellas
in our fancy drinks
scented our lips with hibiscus
(a fantasy accord) in doing so
and carried petal promises
to each others lips when we kissed.
We took our waving sea of every day, everywhere hibiscus
for granted. We loved its beauty even while looking elsewhere
for new visual delights. And as is the case
in so many instances of this kind
have only come to appreciate our common place
once it is left behind.

Artwork by Manuel Rodriguez Sanchez

My sister and I are both famous
By Annette Marie Hyder

for talking in our sleep
in our family. And I have been a sleep walker
and was married to a man who didn't close his eyes
in restful godly repose when he went to sleep
but they were open all night long
letting all manner of nighttime things into his head
just so he could keep his eyes on me.

I am thankful that no eye-opening, no
sleepwalking, has been passed on to my daughter.
She stays put when she is asleep. Her eyes are blessed
and she has lucid dreams. But just the other night she said
something in passing. As she lay asleep in the arms of the night
she told me, "My brushes are calling to me."

Day parts the curtains of sleep
By Annette Marie Hyder

draped over my eyes,
pours sunshine into the windows of my soul
and my soul, like a flower in a pot upon the table
tilts toward its welcome beams,
drinks in the sunlight — like water.

The Couple, Giovanni Boldini 1905


She used to hate it
By Annette Marie Hyder

when they worked for the same company
and she could hear him coming down the hall
his voice rolling, low and gravely, like thunder before him
arrested her hands at her keyboard
and wouldn't you know it
breath held for the stormy cocktail
of testosterone and pheromones to pass
she was left in his wake
soaked with a butterfly storm's worth of perspiration
dotting her upper lip
and trickling down her spine.
Nothing like perspiration stains first thing in the morning at work,
am I right?

Image courtesy of The Advocate


Yay Minnesota!

In a vote of 37-30, the state Senate approved a marriage equality bill. The governor is expected to sign the legislation today. Read more here.

My mom, Audrey Ann Ruff. Photo Copyright Audrey Ann Ruff

The Doll On the Cake
By Annette Marie Hyder
(Mother's Day 2013)

She stands on the top tier
of the cake of my heart
like a little doll,
like a dark haired curvy Barbie
tippy-toed, hand on hip, and head tilted.

She's the master baker who put so much
of herself into the making and baking
that she is really a part of all she made
not just an ornament (but that too)
but something fundamental
and sweet
that just happens to look good
decorating a cake and without whom
there would have been no baking done.

She is baker and batter and ornament
all rolled into one. She is the one who,
like Tita in Like Water for Chocolate,
put so much of herself in the making and shaping
over the years — tears and laughter —
moonlight in graveyards and sunlight on roses —
that she has both created and become, in a way,
her own masterpiece(s).

Did you know that a mother carries with her,
forever, a part of the DNA of the children she has carried?
And we also carry our mothers with us. Or maybe it is more
of a mutual connection like hand-holding that allows us to match our steps
in ways that cannot be explained by any other means
than the secret art of metaphorical baking,