5 Poems - Sometimes, Rainbow, Clam Strip, Moshup in the Clay, Conceit

I have 5 short poems, while I've been posting them one a day, I just want these posted so I can move on. The 2nd, 'Rainbow', I'm dedicating to Mike Goodwin, 'cause he gave me some nice feedback.  You want a poem dedicated to you? Go back to FaceBook, or sign up on here, and tell me what you think. Like your Mama used to say, write a letter to get a letter, er something.


Sometimes

Sometimes, I'm a Christian,
Sometimes, I’m a Buddhist,
Sometimes, I am well dapper dressed,
Sometimes, I’m a nudist,
  Sometimes, I like to Bee

Some people say it’s good to be
One thing, and all the time,
Tho’ if were I compelled to love
The one true only garden flower,
I surely would dance the greatest dance of our kind,
In the exhortation of beatified polygamous flower love,
   to the strictest of all Holy Powers


Rainbow

His perch is high in Nature’s woods,
His color he can’t decide, depends,
  on how he’s set on mood,
He’s blue when skies are clear and new,
And green when naught but leaves are seen,
But heeding caution will turn yellow,
  the closer working Man has been,
He shifts from sallow to orange deranged,
  when Man’s machine’s invade his world,
Glares red, as new outrages fill his head,
  though increasingly by then he’s dead


Clam Strip

A curious thing is the Salt Water Clam,
  usually in bed, under sea,
How the legless ones come on to land
  is a never ending mystery,

Yet, there on the asphalt strip of sidewalk, from
New York Ave through Sunset Park, 
  they lie, (at least their shells do anyway)
Mendacious as having been shed
That these clams are off on a clammy skinny dip,
  out in pea green Sunset Pond,
Thus, when I tell you Fern ‘n Feather campers,
That these clams, like their larger brethren, fly!
In unison you kids all cry;
  "Ahh-Baloney!"

Never minding as overhead there flies
  a kite, in flight, at height,
Is he the Regal Osprey? No, 
  moves more like a Herring Gull, and 
Curious he is about, as
  ‘Crack!’
Another in-flight mollusk makes
  an impact from on high


Moshup in the Clay

Do not touch the cliffs,
  no mud baths, don’t climb their heights,
The cliffs are sacred to the Aquinnah,
Which is why what I saw was odd,
 
It seemed a fan, a clam shell?
A turkey tail? A War Bonnet!
Before which the square jaw,
The jagged nose and chiseled features
Of an ethnic American Native,
  stereotype if drawn by you or me,
But the hand that drafted him was proud,

Etched he was in the cliff clay at Moshup Beach,
  from where he watched the topless bathers,
The naked men who looked,
The nude women who didn’t look back,

Great Moshup, with the whales,
Standing knee high in the ocean,
  holding one up by it’s tail, ‘fore the sunset,
As we trekked back up the trail to the sandy lot
  where the Indian Girl no longer took
    twenty dollar bills for parking,

Great Moshup,
  we are all naked before you,
    you know what we have done,

That night it rained,
  and when we came back
    he had washed away


Conceit

With conceit I track the Butterfly,
His gold-gilt wings downwind,
With magic praise he disappears,
  in meadow grass again

I look upon his landing spot,
Fantastic! He’s not here!
I ask the Grasshopper close by,
  "I’ve not seen him," his curt reply

What fairies are these butterflies,
Who born, so quick, take flight, then die,
So short their brief span over Earth,
  I know,
    Don’t tell,
Let’s leave the ‘hopper have his mirth