We long for still water, the sitting by on the high bank deep in the sweet grass on a summer day dreaming to the silent movement current makes upon the far shore and over worn stones to rest easily in the deep pool.  The ease of the sun’s passage overhead after a storm, dark clouds retreating in surrender their energy spent, our thoughts too clashing and troubled flow to stillness.
On a mountaintop, wind-driven rain hard against my window through the night, the morning breaks to air so clean and light so pure in an exhilaration of joy as the first day.
Our coast, our precious coast, cut into, washed over, carried away.
What will it be after this storm, this storm of climate and sea, of fire and wind, of eyes turned away and eyes starring straight into me–why!

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

Poem

A poem is a coat tree
to hang your thoughts
The hat from a sunny day
The raincoat, a few stray drops
clinging

At the base boots that walked
when you were cold, a scarf
fallen it’s bright colors tossed
with ease over a shoulder
strong

Emotions too find space
on the tree tucking in between
the somber umbrella and a gay
ribbon from a package yet
unopened

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

Pendulum

My heart is tired
Torn as it is between
hope and sorrow

Back and forth I
swing like the
pendulum clock

a glimpse here
dashed there
grasped again

only to be
lost in a meter
of time unknown

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

After the Storm

How different it seems now
closing my eyes to the wreckage
a soft breeze the scent of sea across
my cheek, sunshine ebbing over
still water

Such deception, dressed for a Sunday
outing, white gloves and calm
but ever that underside of violence
swirling and churning rising from the
very heat of the earth spitting seafoam
over thundering wave, crashing and twisting
as a monster unleashed

But it is over now, at least this one
The country looks tired, eyes inward
vacant, slouched in surrender
Last years wounds barely healed
and now this

He shakes his head and looks down
you can feel the emotion like you
can feel the far off storm
Homeplace, livelihood, language and culture
once felt permanent now less so
Diamond City, Portsmouth, Ocracoke
place names in the wind

We continue this dance along the edge of the sea
not knowing the band doesn’t play for us
The music’s pulse deep within the earth
a rhythm all it’s own keeping time in
a celestial signature

Walking on the beach, waves breaking
clear water flowing quickly then slow an
edge of foam advancing only to be left as
all hurries in retreat, sand crystals tumbling
to find place in this new order

We dance this line, skipping sideways to
the dry sand, plunging to our ankles as
cool water flows through our legs feeling
the tug of the sea pulling us back

..

.

..

..

.

..

..

.

..

Upstairs Downstairs

She was only six years old
her new friend near ten
Though traveling in different
circles they found each other
quickly, eyes meeting as arms
wrapped around

She a stranger, unsure of this place
They played: up, down, sit, come
until treats and attention were spent
and sleepiness called her upstairs

Her new friend, a downstairs occupant
was later nowhere to be found
A peek around the bedroom door
the young girl asleep, tiny in her space
a new friend curled at her feet

What to make of this, instinct, conditioning
only an animal after all
But yet, sensing the visitors unease
responding with empathy and love

..

.

..

..

.

..

Longing for still water, a calm after the storm

..

.