Mist and fog ~ marauders of the night, muffle morning’s sun. Drip moisture on decks, lush grass, drooping hammocks and once tall hollyhocks. Grey ocean meets putty sky, nature’s pall like widow’s veil. But my view today? My spirits shall not be dampened nor my view dimmed of this wonderful place called Provincetown. I know the sun is there, simply biding her time to appear.
It is indeed a foggy morning in Provincetown today. I shall simply wipe down the table and chairs on our deck and sit outside to savor the myriad shades of grey presenting themselves between ocean and low hanging sky, all the while listening to the ebb and flow of waves lapping on to shore.
I sit in darkness, blanket-wrapped against damp chill. Squawking gulls pierce my quiet, spar over fish carcass washed ashore. Dawn will present herself shortly, streak sky angry crimson-orange or smudge it gently in soft puffs of pastel pink. How will she start my day?
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and ask writers to include the word “present” or a form of the word, in the body of their quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title.
Photo taken at dawn in Cape Cod’s Provincetown some years ago.We treasure our annual two-week visit to Ptown. I often wrap up in a blanket on the deck, in that chilly dark time before the sun rises, hold a coffee cup in my hands to stay warm, and watch the day dawn over the ocean.
Beatrice caterpillared her way through life, cocooned away in a dune shack on Provincetown’s National Sea Shore. Aware of her eccentricities, town criers and town folk alike let her live her reclusive life.
In the summer of nineteen seventy-nine crowds gathered outside the Lobster Pot, salivating at the new restaurant in town. Suddenly, mouths agape, they gawked at the brightly clad gal who fluttered out its door.
Dressed in beaded striped chemise gauzy wings mysteriously attached, she looked vaguely familiar. She smiled tossing menus to the crowd, sand clinging to ginger ringlets, long eyelashes and sunburned knees.
Beatrice had left the beach and butterflied her way into town.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to write a poem in which we verbify an animal or two. Among the examples she gives are dogging someone’s footsteps and badgering someone. She provides us with a list of animals to verbify, or we may choose our own. I chose the caterpillar and butterfly.
Photo is from one of our many annual two-week stays in Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod. The “sandgrains of truth” in this tall tale of a poem are 1) the Lobster Pot first opened in Provincetown in 1979; and 2) there are indeed dune shacks on the National Seashore in Provincetown. People still use them today and they are considered by many as historical treasures. At different times, Jackson Pollock, E.E.Cummings, Norman Mailer, Jack Kerouac and Tennessee Williams lived in them.
Walking down Provincetown’s main street, I passed two men sitting on a bench chatting in front of the courthouse. It’s a popular place to people watch.
I heard one man say to the other “I have a list of things I’m not allowed to buy.” I started wondering, what might that list include?
Possibly . . . M&Ms with peanuts, wine spritzers and flavored beer. Tie-dyed tee shirts, bumper stickers, and coffee mugs for mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, best brother or best sister. Cape Cod engraved silver spoons. Salt and pepper shakers in the shape of whales. And possibly starfish from the shell shop? Because he already has too many.
“So what would I buy if I had that list,” I asked my spouse after writing this poem. In his inimitable way, he simply said, “Use your imagination.”
Image: photo of sign taken on our walk yesterday to the far East side of town, where automobiles first enter Provincetown.
Beloved Provincetown, how shall I pen you? Sometimes mellow, sweet as honey, dew dripped fogged another day?
Your fickle Spring brings brisk winds, lean-into gusts that slow my steps on low tide walks along the shore. Horseshoe crabs spawn, two moving as one, leaving intricate trails on sand, caring not that I observe their intimacy.
Summer explodes in gulls and fireworks. Two and four-legged beach walkers skirt ’round children digging moats. Engorged tour buses relieve themselves. Nametagged visitors join throngs in streets as bicycles weave their way through maze.
Autumn brings sweatered afternoons, shorter ice cream lines, gardens’ last hurrahs, and fewer buskers on the streets. I stand alone in wool cap on deserted shore, marveling at the glory of an amber moon, light temptation for tomorrow’s palette of words.
When your Winters flaunt Nor’easters, remaining locals, few in number, tread quickly through snow-muffled quietude. Behind once busy Commercial Street in this, the most off of off-seasons, ocean’s rhythmic tides still reign.
The ocean, in fog or sun or snow, Provincetown’s constant gift, no matter the time of year.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and asking folks to “compound me!”
I’ve provided a list of compound words in the prompt . (A compound word is formed by putting two root words together to form an entirely new word.)
Writers must choose at least one compound word from the list and use it in their poem EXCEPT, they must take apart the word! They can not add any words between the two root words nor can they add any additional letters to the root words. For example: moonlight: writers can put moon at the end of one line and begin the next line with the word light. Or they may, within one line, include the two words moon and light, with no other letters added to the words and no additional words between the two root words. They may however, add a punctuation mark between the two root words.
Confused? Here’s the two lines from my poem above, where I’ve used the words honeydew and moonlight, which are in the list:
Sometimes mellow, sweet as honey, dew dripped fogged another day? and marveling at the glory of an amber moon, light temptation for tomorrow’s palette of words.
I do hope you’ll join us! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time and you’ll find the complete list of compound words there. Choose one or more and compound me! Or just stop by to see what others write. The more the merrier!
Photos from our annual two weeks in Provincetown over these past 22 years. We’re here until Saturday, and as you can tell from this poem and the last few I’ve posted, it is my muse. We are smitten with our beloved Provincetown.
Video was taken yesterday!! Did you know …. May is spawning season for horseshoe crabs. They’re not actually crabs. They’re chelicerates, most closely related to arachnids, such as spiders and scorpions. They’re consiered “living fossils” meaning they’ve existed nearly unchanged for at least 445 million years, well before even the dinosaurs!Amazing to watchtheir spawning. Our first time in all these years, coming in May….and then we find out it’s horseshoe crab spawning time!
. . . shadow me to sleep. Hush headlines, past regrets, and lists of tasks undone. Toss full moon behind gathering clouds. Snuff stars until dust drips silently crusting my eyes. Sink me into primordial seas, ombréd in shades of grey that I might rest in peace.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to include the word “sleep” in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Photos taken last night from our deck here in Provincetown, as the moon was rising. That’s my husband’s hand. Unfortunately, it did indeed totally cloud over and we never saw the eclipse or infamous blood moon….but this was an amazing sight as well.
There’s a quiet to this place in that transition between winter and when-will-it-get-here spring.
Ocean ombrés from greys to taupes bereft of sails and buoys, lonely tides missing congregant gulls.
Lulling seeping fog muffles sound. Low-lying dulled clouds meld into one sky misting all that lies beneath.
And if perchance the sun should shine clearing skies to blue, cold damp air chills the bones still.
Lean-into gusts of wind accompany the lone walker, a speck of time on these vast sands in the quiet of this place.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.
Today Sanaa is hosting and from 3 to 4 PM, Boston time, we will be LIVE.Poets from around the globe will meet via Google Meet and read aloud one poem of their choosing. It’s amazing to see the faces of folks and hear their voices….come join us either to read a poem of your choosing, or just to sit in and listen. HOW TO JOIN US?
Go to https://dversepoets.com at 3 PM or just a few minutes after, and the links to join us will be there…just click and come!
Photo taken this morning from our deck in Provincetown.
We’ve spent two weeks in Provincetown, at the Watermark Inn for the past twenty-two years. We’ve been here in January, July, May, and September. For some beautiful photos over the years, click here!
He courted me online. Sent me airfare from Paris to Boston. Met me with flowers and a grin. We sped out of the city, not slowing down until we crossed the Bourne Bridge onto Cape Cod. Small towns appeared and disappeared until we reached Provincetown. Shifting into four-wheel drive, he maneuvered through a maze of sand dunes, finally reaching his secluded shack. The one he’d so romantically described. For three glorious weeks we made love under down comforters and hiked the deserted beach. Off season was best, he said.
On April thirtieth, he muttered “you’re not enough.” He walked out and left me stranded, scared to death. For how can I be sure I shall see again the world? On the first day of May, I got the nerve to climb up the nearest dune. I hoped the world was on the other side.
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Today Merril asks us to use a line from Sara Teasdale in our prose: “For how can I be sure I shall see again the world on the first day of May.” We can not change the words – must use them exactly as written. However, we may change the punctuation.
The Bourne Bridge does indeed separate Cape Cod from the mainland of Massachusetts. Since 1998, we’ve spent two weeks every year at Provincetown, at the very end (tip) of Cape Cod. We usually take the fast ferry direct from Boston – it only takes 90 minutes – and we usually come in September. However, because of another commitment, we arrived in Ptown on Saturday and will be here until May 21st. Definitely off-season. The ferry isn’t running yet so we took a bus. After the bus crossed the Bourne Bridge, we did indeed ride through many small New England towns before we spied the National Seashore coming in to Ptown. done A number of years ago we did Art’s Dune Tour in his 4-wheel drive. He takes you way out and up and down all the dunes. To this day, there are still some very secluded artist’s shacks in the dunes.
Above image by Jan Aldrich has been cropped showing a sand dune and part of an artist’s shack on the National Seashore.
Photo below is of me today on our morning walk at low tide. Chilly but still beautiful.
I see her walking through peonies waiting patiently for the strawberry moon. She, the night traveler in my dreams. She bids me walk slowly, eyes open in my sleep, to explore her natural world. Together we soar on the wings of a hawk as goldfinches sing and wonder precedes us. Approaching Provincetown, we marvel at migrating wild geese making their cacophonous way to their winter’s resting place. As I begin to drift near rising she leads me past fields of goldenrod to a small pond bedecked in floating flowers, lily pads asleep and yet to bloom. Cool winds ruffle my eyelids like rustling leaves in a tree. The lilies break open over the dark water as my dream retreats into dawning sky. I awaken to a certain sharpness in the morning air ready to take up pen, inspired by this woman. She, the night traveler in my dreams.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 25. Today we’re to write an aisling: to recount a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land/country on/in which the poet lives.
Mary Oliver moved to Provincetown in the 1960s and sets most of her poetry in and around this wonderful town. An avid walker, much of her poetry comes from her observances of the natural world. I’ve incorporated 9 titles of her poems in my Ode: Peonies Strawberry Moon The Night Traveler Hawk Goldfinches Wild Geese Goldenrod The Lilies Break Open Over the Dark Water A Certain Sharpness in the Morning Air
We’ve lived in Boston for the past twenty-five years and spend two weeks of every year in Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod.Photos from our visits to P’town.
lillian the home poet 