Riding the Waves

Gin and tonic on the rocks
atop a Cape Cod hill
overlooking white sail dots
on forever ocean scape.

I drift backward on the waves
to days on my old Boot Hill,
surrounded by empty fields
new subdivision coming soon.

Crouched low behind tall weeds
brambles with stick-on burrs
scratched knobby eleven year old knees,
we stalked bad guys never seen.

Rode horses round that dirt mound
inspired by westerns on console tvs.
Buster browns galloped and dusty laces flew,
head strong imaginations with no reins.

Parched by the high noon sun
horses unhitched and left to roam,
we walked home, hand in hand
to lemonade in aluminum glasses.

And we wondered how old
the Lone Ranger really was.

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Photo by Elvis Santana.

Cape Cod Muse

Dawn of a new day

Sea breeze carries a slight chill
as she pulls the sweatshirt close,
sips hot strong coffee under rising sun.

Later that day, sweatshirt off and visor on
she palms lotion between her hands
rubs coconut scent upon her limbs.

Feet on rail, notebook in hand
ideas float as gulls hover overhead
pen hits paper as birds dive into sparkling sea.

Sun shifts westward, coolness returns
she dons layers again
like words stacked upon the page.

Days in this place
turn into moonbeams
and she retires to be born again.

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Cape Cod, Provincetown, little piece of heaven on earth.  AND:  this turns out to be my first poem published!  Provincetown Magazine, October 1 issue, 2015.

Provincetown

Icon of Provincetown
Someday, visit Provincetown,
nestled in the crook of Cape Cod’s tip,
at earth’s end and life’s beginning.

Savor the Watermark Inn
her quiet beach in early morn
ripples on sand and gulls overhead.

Long necked cormorants preen
then disappear, dive deep
to reappear fifty yards down shore.

Long Point lighthouse gleams white
stands tall across the waters,
stalwart to all who sail these seas.

Summer sunrise etches pink ripples
on softly lapping waves
and cotton candy clouds.

September sun melts orange red yellow
mirrors foliage on the town side
of fall quiet Commercial Street.

Come see this place my friend,
and serenity will visit your soul.

Call of the sea

This poem motivated by a prompt in my September Poetry Challenge Class:  Read Postscript by Seamus Heaney…..think about a time you traveled through a landscape that stopped your heart…do take interest in all elements of this poem (Postscripts): place names, references to season, landscape details etc…..he uses the second person “you” in his poem.

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Ursa

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Round haunches, vestigial tail
grizzly when disturbed,
you meander, content and calm
on Denali’s hallowed ground.

Forager by nature
low bush cranberries and blue ones too
two thousand garnered every day
sustenance for a long winter’s sleep.

From sight to paw to mouth,
our approach ignored
until windows fling open
and camera eyes gawk.

Suddenly, like Ursa Major
on guard from on high
you look at us
wee squatters on protected land.

And in that moment,
the lesson is realized.
You are the superior being
of this great mother called earth.

Amazing and magnificent creatures seen in Denali National Park.

In the Midst of Glaciers

Hubbard 1                       Hubbard remnant

Dare I watch? Dare I breathe in this place,
where Nature’s breath and hand
hath created frozen beauty
over hundreds, nay thousands, of years?

Glaciers appear as still rivers
imperceptible flows of time
dip down from mountains of rock,
those dark monoliths of eternity.

Snow compressed, solidified
centuries of generation after generation
braids of blue crystal rivulets
between boundaries of sky and sea.

We float, this ship of humans,
bodies in the midst of your debris
slabs of flesh among slabs of ice
decades of life dwarfed in age and size.

Bits of time shed from the mother lode,
we, the detritus of humanity
make our way through the field of ice
looking backward as our ship retreats.

We are changed forever by this timeless place
one small ship in a glacier glory land
a fracture
in the eons of time.

Top two photos from aboard our ship, very very close to Hubbard Glacier. We had to move through an ice field from its “calving” — to get close this close — and we were privileged to see it calve — drop a huge mantle of ice with a thunderous sound!!! 

Mendenhall   Mendenhall Glacier near Juneau.Notes below.

us at laughton toeAlmost to the toe of Laughton near Skagway. 

Laughton ice     Laughton’s ice shelf. Melting into glacial stream.

us on stream   Us on hike back down. Notes below.

Mendenhall Glacier near Juneau. We hiked to a beach where we could look across a lake and see this magnificent site.  Next are photos of our hike all the way up to the “toe” of the Laughton Glacier near Skagway. We are standing by a glacier runoff stream — the sound alone was wondrous. Others are of us standing on the toe — incredible that we made it this high — right next to the glacier….you’ll see the ice shelf, crack in the ice.  Truly an amazing hike — exhausting but exhilarating!  We climbed through woods, then over fields of rocks and boulders to get here.  11 miles round trip to Laughton. Alaska: trip of a lifetime!

 

 

 

 

Alaska: First Glance

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She wears mist like a silk scarf
draped round her foothills,
wisps of white cloud
wrap round her girth,
this Alaskan mountain.

Her legion of honor stand nearby
black spruce, short in stature
strong willed in spirit,
cling to permafrost tundra,
their tenacity and her beauty
reflected in cold still waters.

photo 2      photo 3  Photos taken from our dome topped train ride from Anchorage to Talkeetna, Alaska yesterday.

Hawaii Lava Walk

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The earth belches and spews forth her fury.
Oh Pele, goddess of volcanoes,
your power and passion are evident
as you hiss and ooze red-hot anger.

You are the earth’s psyche
and we the defiant trespassers,
over cracks and fissures
glass-sharp edges of your hardened crust.

Arrogant though we are
we step gingerly,
awed by your magnificence
as we retreat to cooler ground.

Posted in response to the Daily Post Photo Challenge:  Beneath Your Feet.  Photos from our 2005 Lava Walk on the Big Island in Hawaii.  A once in a life-time experience, to feel the volcano beneath our feet!

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Vivid Bermuda

Drums pulse.
Whistle blasts methodical pace
soon frenetic.  Eyes open wide
as Gombeys march
then run, then leap into view.
Vibrant costumed anonymity.
Histories joined
African, British, Native American
collide in exuberant dance.
Speed increases, blurs.
Cacophony of primary colors
whirl, jump high, bend low.
Wordless loud stories
of ancestral slaves.

In response to the Daily Post Photo Challenge, how do you illustrate Vivid?