--for Mr. Perry
One summer day at Silver Beach,
the sky dull, the sea abandoned,
dim as dusk he comes, the old man.
Once he salvaged lawn chairs,
repaired and sold beside the road:
please deposit fair amount.
Now, it's cans.
Alone along the breakwater,
oblivious to lines of bees,
he searches barrels, savors refuse,
nickles on his mind.
Wind blows his faded shirt.
Rain threatens his hunched back.
Sack full, barrel empty,
he lifts his head, he turns to see
a flash sear the troposphere,
outline violet the edge of cloud,
illuminate with its indifferent light.
I am working on another 28 poem chapbook titled "Indifferent Light." This is an old poem from my Cape Cod days. Mr. Perry lived in the garage of the house I rented. He owned the house but rented it out for income. He had two ancient dogs, Snowball and Pwincess, who loved to chase my cats.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Myles Standish of the Mayflower, and perhaps others, came ashore near this beach and encountered Native Americans from the Nauset Tribe of the Wampanoag nation. I visited recently to honor my ancestors who I can trace to the Mayflower through Richard Warren. I said aloud the list of descendants down to myself, buried a photo of me as a child, tried to light a candle but it was too windy.
I also apologized for the way my ancestors treated the Native Americans, from that day to this. The tide was low, the days was lovely.The Cape is my ancestral home ground, no wonder I am so drawn to the landscape.
Our views of "conquering" other countries have changed in contemporary times, at least for some of us. We see the travesty of taking what others' cherish, of giving nothing in return except small-poxed blankets. Yet throughout the world people still pursue this quest of conquering.
Let us be peace in our daily life, live peace and caring, to counter war and conquest.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
I dont usually get wrapped up in my age, my birthdays and so on. Yet approaching 70 does give me pause. I seem to notice small vulnerabilities and in my head make more of them than they are worth. I ponder my purpose, which is not the same as it was when younger. And I am not sure what it is. I am of little significance except perhaps to my son to whom I provide a place to live
On my 60th birthday I came up to NH to visit my parents. They were both alive then and Russ my brother and his wife Nora and my ex-husband. My friend old pajamas came too We stayed in a B and B now closed. We were here for the Alstead flood and for the Dublin Art Tour in the pouring mud and rain. The Brattleboro Literary Festival was on and we listened and enjoyed. It was a nice birthday.
I have had some lovely birthdays too with my Cape Cod friends from our women's group and other friends from the early 80's. I felt seen, acknowledged. For my 70th I wanted to do something fun. I hate planning, but thought of Paris, London, Santa Fe or San Francisco.
No way could I pull those off. Haha. I will drive 5 hours to be in the presence of friends. Upper Cape and Mid Cape and possibly lower Cape. Even this somewhat humble adventure feels self-indulgent and a bit scary. No idea why. And planning had to happen. So I have had a month or so to be nervous. I ask myself can I do it? But I ask this of myself always. I always fear I wont be able to "pull it off" so to speak, whatever it is. Yet, I always do.
This birthday time seems auspicious, what with the September 18th eclipse and full moon (?) Have I got that right? Some big event anyway and I can already feel the energy of it, thrombing inside me and around me. A nice introduction to my month.
My friend Sarah, now deceased, used to say celebrate a month, not one day. Unbeknownst to me she placed two votive candles on the hood of my car. I took off down the road and heard a thump thump. Oh no, my car is falling apart. I stopped by the roadside and found the candles had thumped down my hatchback rear and caught on the windshield wiper. LOL.
That's the friendly and rich way it was when I lived on the Cape. Now I have a lovely virtual community. But I cannot observe my friend's eyes and gestures or hear their voices. I love to observe people, their clothes, their way of doing things. I am a magpie so I learn how to do things by watching my friends. I am an observer and when you observe in "real time" you are seeing in many dimensions all at once. For an introvert, it can be overwhelming. But I love it and used to return home to my solitary abode and assimilate and contemplate what I had seen, felt, smelled. A sort of balance between extro and intro. And then I wrote stories and painted paintings to release the sense of overwhelm. The younger me.
Who am I now?