10 July

For the past week I have been subbing for Mandoline on a poetry blog in which she participates -http://yourbestbeachbody.blogspot.com - which is worth checking out. It's been fun, and the dailiness of it easier in poetry than in prose. Here's the stuff of it:

immersion

daughter pushed me in,
he said between coughs, belching sea water
sitting on the sand wrapped in aluminum foil
surrounded by buff saviors proud of the day's catch,
ready to grill.
coulda drowned but here I am - fish outta water.
not in the slot though -
better throw me back.


day's heat done

The air turns petal soft and even,
tree wings hum,
downy arms cuddle me in evening -
I settle into the night and slow to sleep.


7 'n 7
Sweet and cheap, easy toxicity not too halitosogenic, almost legal
discovered in Bermuda one Spring when little 50s
buzzed us half buzzed
up and down the hills
between beach and banter lusting for love
or at least a semblance to recount
when back in between pale green New Hampshire walls
waiting for summer.
Where are they now?


heat

my glasses itch,
droplets weep, roll into rivulets, pool in my navel, overflow into the pond beyond the willow.
All cloth is excess, useless adornment, imposed.
Cats drape on shadow shoulders, dogs find cool rock pedestals legs splayed, wet tongued hunting trophies with relentless steam drives.
L I f e s l o w s
Listen…..the corn is growing.
Listen….. the Cool Cavalry is coming to give pause, allow sleep.


5 July

Give us this day
Sometimes you hunger and all of you knows it
and sometimes you lack elements
and your body doesn’t tell you
and sometimes you
just don’t care.
Our daily bread


4 July

The ell goes West from the old cape
sun pouring into morning coffee long cold.
love, loss, life - furled paint
on peeling shakes - new homes, different wasps
above a daytime sea of celebrating trefoils
orange over yellow and green

re-beginning, July 2010.

After a long layoff, I am restarting this blog with a on a week pace. Join me if you will.

There is something magical, physical that happens when the wind turns to the Northwest and the sodden air moves on, slowly at first, clinging to the earth, then more and more rapidly as the dry edge of rising millibars cleans the sky like a broom. Things become clear. The crisp green line of the treetops against blue sky appears from grey fuzz. Thoughts unscramble and become more linear. Goals seem more within reach, and the reach seems to extend. It’s a good time to take things on. John Cole, who somehow introduced me to Maine, said: “of all the winds that blow, I like the Northwest the best” and he had, as with many things, good reason.

There is an energy that rides this wind, too, that begs tapping. It pulls you from bed and on through the day as if a charge of unknown source had entered the system, cleaned all the pipes and tightened all the fittings. The force still wants direction and discipline, though, and whether they too are in the wind is a question that remains. I’ll ride it back to MaineStreams and see where it takes me, and you?