Saturday, June 22, 2024

Poet's Corner

Poet’s Corner: When the Trees Are Gone

When the trees are gone and they will be truly gone we will no longer find their solace of shade on a cloudless summer day then they will be forgotten for how can we live in the world other...

Poet’s Corner: Again

Six lobster pots Lifted from the bay By the captain, orange gloved With foul weather gear to match He checks his catch No luck Toward the jetty He steers his boat Wide beamed and modest Replenishes the bait Attaches steel traps To a long line Drops...

Poet’s Corner: Home

So hoist the sails and cast her off We’re free as we can be Leave the mainland far behind And head her out to sea Forget the stragglers Let ’em stay Set the course in stone Do not waver Do not stray Steer her straight for home Steve Ewing is...

Poet’s Corner: Island, Life

 Helpmeet, provisions, the bleating goat and crowing cock of the island where palm fronds like fish spines chime life’s rhythms of waves and wind in a bleached conch’s cornucopia of sighs, as in the guava’s shadow, a...

Serenity

Chaotic chaos Splits me Into two As a Tiny pill splitter Permanently Arms, legs Move without Careful consideration I want To be ONE Calm and relaxed Under the Blazing Oranges, yellows, reds Of A Menemsha sunset Where the Seagulls pass by With extraordinary ease Where fish soak In the Relaxing colors I spread My arms Sand Underneath my feet I stand Rebecca Perkalis...

Poet’s Corner: The Letting

Vital liquid pours warm draining, staining my hand — The letting now uncontrolled, frightening, new. Red? No; brown brings relief: It was the oil plug I pulled and this is not transmission fluid. After 40 years of working with technology, and...

Poet’s Corner: Beach Road

Beach Road. From Five Corners to Eastville. Stretch of road written of our own quill. Sunny day, wonder of that ahead. Love and death? It is the demons we dread. Lines of cars snake along this short route. In the air — Sounds of my...

Poet’s Corner: The Lyme Song of B. Afraid Burgdorferi

April is the crawlest month, bleeding … Let us go then, you and I like patients peroxided upon a table (I should wear white flannel trousers — twit, twit, twit — to the beach) "Hurry up please, it's Lyme" In the...