Ghost riders no longer hover.
Train tracks dismantled long ago
phantom posts reveal their route.
I did not mind their crossing,
if they could have glided silently
like parrot fish within my realms
or shape shifter clouds above.
It was the daily clatter,
metal wheels on transom
wide-open window chatter
I much prefer the quiet.
Hikers who gaze,
mesmerized by lapping waters,
sun glisten upon my face.
pelt rain upon my scenic demeanor.
Rarer still, they apologize
reflecting rainbow arcs in smiles.
Posted for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Mish asks us to “give nature a voice.” Photo from Bermuda — along the Old Railway Trail. The Bermuda Railway operated from October 1931 until May, 1948. The hiking trail stops and starts on various parts of the islands that make up Bermuda — with ruins of stations, trestles, and roadcuts. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on by!
We gaze, mesmerized.
misshaped craggy towers
wind and brine carved.
Seas rise and fall
pulsate with teeming life.
We embrace, knowing.
Stainless steel lies within,
raises stitchmarked skin.
Tethered by wires
your heart rises and falls,
life beneath the seam.
Photo from February, at Tobacco Bay in St George, Bermuda.
Sun struggles behind shrouded sky.
Three rays burst through darkness,
beacons that proclaim
there shall be hope this day.
Photo taken at dawn from deck of our rented apartment in Bermuda. No filters – no photoshopping. It was truly glorious.
carved by wind and sea,
lessons in patience
to the passage of time.
Photos from a recent walk to Tobacco Bay near St George’s, Bermuda. No photoshopping. It truly is this beautiful.
In 1609, a British ship ran aground on an uninhabited island. No conversions. No wars with indigenous peoples. Bermuda is the epitome of a melting pot: British, American Indian, Portuguese, African. All came to her shores, whether willing or not.
Yesterday, I enjoyed a skirling ceremony on the parade grounds of a 19th century fort. Kilt clad drummers and bagpipers with those haunting droning tones, moved resolutely, sonorously. Today I sit, eyes and ears accosted by a Gombey Revue. One whistle, so loud it seems like twenty. And two frenetic drums reverberating through the room. A cacophony of color leaps, runs, and moves. All in seeming abandon. Every inch of every troupe member covered in cloth, sequins, feathers, gloves, masks and towering hats. Their movements tell their history. I am mesmerized.
It’s as if a coin’s been tossed. Yesterday I saw heads and today I see tails.
yellow raucous kiskadee
Toni hosts Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Theme today is “the best things in life are free.” A haibun is prose (nonfiction) followed by a haiku. Bermuda’s Uncover the Arts Program runs November through March, with many free and wonderful things to see and do that give you glimpses into the country’s culture, history, and scenery. Our rented apartment in St. George’s, a UNESCO World Heritage site, has a deck that overlooks the harbor. I often see a beautiful heron in the early morning. And we always see and hear the yellow kiskadee, a very loud, bright yellow bird – its “song” sounds like its name, kiss-ka-dee, kiss-ka-dee.
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Shards tumbled, churned.
amber, green, clear.
Once broken, glint in sun
smoothed by roiling seas.
Are these but reminders
of those who washed ashore?
See me. Know me.
in that which is made anew.
Bermuda sea glass. Bermuda was originally an uninhabited island. All Bermudians are either immigrants or descendants of immigrants. There are no indigenous peoples.
Simplicity is a roomy closet, an empty drawer,
stars overhead and terra firma souls.
Memories and dreams conjured
from maps, photo albums, paper and pen.
Long walks in whatever weather,
wherever place, your arms round me.
Thankful for everyday.
Tobacco Bay. Ten minute walk from our rental in St George’s, Bermuda.
aquamarine ripples glow
sun kiss dappled waves.
70 degrees and sunny today in Bermuda.
home to homeless souls.
infests porous stone.
Spirits drift through arches,
seek solace in open spaces,
await blessing’s incantation
drifting . . .
caught in man’s indeterminate pause.
Photos of the Unfinished Church on a hill top in St. George’s, Bermuda. Gothic architecture, started in 1874. Funding problems and disagreement in the parish suspended construction in 1897. A 1926 hurricane destroyed the roof and much of the construction. The ruins are a protected site in St George’s, a UNESCO world Heritage Site.
wave after wave,
battered vulnerable shore.
droplets splayed like angry spittle,
Photos taken in Bermuda.