Waves lap, winds gust
two gulls quarrel over one morsel
breath cools hot black liquid
sips then swallows.
All these sounds
echo in my ears
yet here I sit,
amidst the silence of the sea.
Another beautiful Provincetown sunrise. Sadly, our two weeks is about to end. Tis a special place – truly food for the soul.
Beads of wet
on grey wooden slats
reveal smooth foot prints
within pools of dew.
Purple veined hand
tames breeze ruffled pages,
etches black ink phrases
between blue lines.
Noon sun directly overhead
deck floor dry, tracks gone
forehead drenched
in streams of sweat.
Words flounder,
pen drags letters
as ideas dry up
like low tide sand.
And the sun shall break forth,
blush clouds pink then shift
seep tinges of deep warm reds.
A lonely gull sits sentinel,
witness to the changing palette
as waves stir the sands.
And somewhere a newborn cries
seeks her mother’s breast
as seedlings sprout in a monet garden.
For this is a new day to claim
cause and determination for joy
because we can.
We touch, we live to love
this day another,
thankful
together.
I lie perfectly still, face to sky
on a clear plastic air mattress
plumped with my breath.
Sea breeze ruffles tendrils,
flutter-touch my forehead
warmed by afternoon sun.
Softly bobbing near the shore
fingers trail in cool waters
while ocean croons its song.
I drift, eyes closed
through barriers of time
afloat in my mother’s womb.
This was a challenging prompt in my September 21 Day Challenge course: Use description but notice the difference between language that shows the reader a world, and language that tells a reader what you (or your speaker) think about it or feel about.
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.
Photo by Elvis Santana.
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.
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.
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.
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.
sea salt licks tart sweet
your kiss, standing on the shore
waves crash, passions soar
If you look with the mind of mother earth, in this place called Alaska, you become the earth.
Great calving sheets of ice seen from the haven of a cruise ship. We roar in excitement as you roar in pain. Losing part of yourself to the sea.
My boots trek through forest, stumble on tree roots, your uprooted veins. In the midst of rocky debris, at the toe of Laughton Glacier, a new sound. The relentless trickle of water into a glacial stream. Tears unabated, you weep cold rivulets, slowly, through hundreds of generations.
And I see. And I hear. Like a jagged shard of ice thrust through my heart. I understand this insidious thing we blithely call global warming. And I am chilled to the bone.
A prose poem, in the style of Joy Harjo.
Photos: Top: great slabs of ice shed from Mendenhall Glacier. Above left: standing on the “toe” of Laughton Glacier, after hiking 6.5 miles through Tsongas Forest and climbing through rocks on her debris field. This picture shows a gap — the “black cave” created by the ice melting…continuously dripping. The “rock” above the cave is the ice itself, narrowed from melting. It will eventually collapse into itself. All that you see above the “cave” is ice with debris its carried in its forward path. Right: the “ice field” our ship had to go through to get to Hubbard Glacier….which can be seen in the distance. Result of glacier calving.
See views of the glaciers themselves with my poem, In the Midst of Glaciers.
A different take on the Daily Post Photo Challenge: from every angle.
Tree top abandoned
you glide overhead
power and beauty combined
a national treasure.
Outstretched black wings
white head and tail
blend in sleek aeronautic form
sole presence in vast sky.
Suddenly
legs drop in mid-flight
fearsome talons glint in sun
stark contrast to sea serenity.
No hesitation,
double-back or fly around
fast dive, splash
water and body collide.
Plummet turns to majestic rise,
return to nest, the conqueror.
The moment, so fast in time
waters flow unbroken
unaware they’ve lost
a swift inhabitant
to the ruler of the sky.
Photos: from recent Alaska trip. Apologies they are not better….taken on cell phone. Eagle was magnificent!
lillian the home poet 