POETRY ON SATURDAY January 14,2016


Image may contain: tree, sky, plant, outdoor and nature
Credit: Claudia Filos 

a beatnik wood song session

pine cones litter earths skin
squirrels gather loose acorns
squeaking out hip approvals
a beatnik wood song session

Down East Dreaming

traps neatly stacked high
as seaside condo units rise
along once quiet shores
buoys fill old barrels rustic
child’s toy box full of tops
spin the old sights seen

beyond nets cascading
theaters curtain drawn
fog rolls across stage set
each mornings moorings
pastel painted sunrise

a reflection on glass seas
from distance heard waves
the bell buoy rings one
in time with the salty scene
crying gulls scream meals
diving for each bite tossed

as chum flies wings flap
water untouched by sky
bright colored crustaceans
feed a Down East tradition
old lobster-man’s dream

Timbers Traveled Less

Gloucester Fisherman’s Memorial Statue
sturdy timbers my steps plodding over boots slap
deeply weathered the grains holds secret records
crevices containing ages of scrapbook ephemera
oil dipped pilings proud twice daily display barnacle
encrusted sides holding then dripping the oceans
saliva witnessed by seabirds or mermaids believed
extinct now among seafarers, a myth to fools dry
earth dwellers more aptly described without a name
among they that go down to sea in ships remembered
those tracks in the timbers a course less sailed each
follows one down the lands end to a widows walk
worn the treading of anxious gazes and rector visits
all to often known my steps now light dishonoring
not this memorial found on timbers traveled less

Into The Foggy Night

snuggled in safely, by granite walls
outside the white capped seas rage
fog horns blow, rolling in a grey mist
breached, tsunami clouds engulfing
Lanes Cove shelters a wooden skiff
night drips from the Cape Ann skies
moonbeams pan a lighthouse show
we lick salty lips on the shore rocks

gulls watch the September tide rise
as we follow the summer sun setting
wishing that June came every week
if so tomorrow we’d walk Bass Rocks
and then down on the boulevard late
but vacations come only once a year
so silently we count the lobster traps
as we disappear into the foggy night


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