The wind last night
spoke -
now the roses are back.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
butter sounds...
Poetry
The Lubec morning
Meadowlark
Awake
Quiet
Flowers
A gull
A goldfinch in the feeder again
A scroll written on a porch post
Butter sounds
And pickup trucks winding their way to the water
A crow
A dog barks
And slowly the meadowlark stretches
For
The
Run
And
Violas play again in a town without pity
*written August 6.
The Lubec morning
Meadowlark
Awake
Quiet
Flowers
A gull
A goldfinch in the feeder again
A scroll written on a porch post
Butter sounds
And pickup trucks winding their way to the water
A crow
A dog barks
And slowly the meadowlark stretches
For
The
Run
And
Violas play again in a town without pity
*written August 6.
Monday, August 5, 2013
no flowered cushions...
The movie house is empty
On sunrises on the bay
Dark windows
Open curtains
No flowered cushions
No rocking chair under the marquee
No movie
No sails set
No Bogey cellos violins or Bacall
No Tracy no Hepburn
The movie house is empty
And
The blue painter's tape doesn't wave anymore
On sunrises on the bay
Dark windows
Open curtains
No flowered cushions
No rocking chair under the marquee
No movie
No sails set
No Bogey cellos violins or Bacall
No Tracy no Hepburn
The movie house is empty
And
The blue painter's tape doesn't wave anymore
Sunday, August 4, 2013
the sky is barely blue...
The sky is barely blue
The water is wavy glass
The movie house in yellow sun
The roses are nearly gone
A sail leaves the cove
Vanilla and turquoise
A chartreuse pennant flying
To Cuttyhunk the Shine Café and
The
Sea
To
Scotland
;
The morning is barely blue
The water is wavy glass
The movie house in yellow sun
The roses are nearly gone
A sail leaves the cove
Vanilla and turquoise
A chartreuse pennant flying
To Cuttyhunk the Shine Café and
The
Sea
To
Scotland
;
The morning is barely blue
Saturday, August 3, 2013
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