Monday, June 22, 2015

beech hill poem in progress

Beech Hill poem
a collaborative poem being written over the next 6 weeks
in the journal at Beech Nut, at the top of Beech Hill
Please walk up and add to the poem -

"What happens to you when you write the world down, when you say it out loud? How does the world change when the word is made?"
Robert Kelly

summer solstice - june 21, 2015

rain, then wind -
the longest day of the year
fog, and then
all those islands


june 23
sun before rain
hills before cloud
(most birds are nesting)

yellowthroat alley

the towhees are singing.


misty walk, scent of roses
in the air. In the
company of two cheerful
souls on my 21st birthday.
The foggy blanket on this
drizzly day transports our hearts
and minds to the lovely land
of our ancestors, in the bayland
of Ireland
Erin go bragh


I haven't been to this place
since last year
the place is still the same
as beautiful as ever
the wind whispers softly
over the ocean
and the rolling green hills -
wherever, this place feels
like home

Beech Hill - a good place to fall in love -

a place I clear my
thoughts and heal
my heart

sailboats passing by
spirits are high
there is a bird's nest
somewhere west

chasing butterflies, jumping off rocks,
admiring boats and islands
this is our family hike
and even with the whining of a 4 year old
we are at peace.

halfway down the
I hear my steps

time moves fast everywhere
but here, in this moment, it seemed
to stand still

almost perfect place to be
sun, clouds & breeze, no
bugs, perfect wildflowers

to the east or the west
one hardly knows the best

yet those that invest
ensure the rest

in awe of the moon, always

Believing, for the moment,
in no truths higher
than cricket chirp,
rose bloom,
cold wind prickles
on bare skin.

we are tired
but refreshed
so many teens, so few cellphones
Awake and Full

in the ongoing motion
of stress and of time
the peace of the valleys
and the water so kind
the flower is plentiful
and the children at play
time seems to stop here
every day


july 2 full moon

this hilltop where
beautiful things happen
every day
the birds as witness
the winds as witness
the moon, as witness

Before me
how the mind opens
flattens, calms:
the sea, blue haze
islands of the imagination

Behind me, serious blue hills
sun setting, silver wisps
waiting for the moon

awaiting a full moon to rise
sensations for our ears and eyes
fiddle played, poems read aloud
full moon hides behind a cloud

waiting for the moon to rise,
Turn around!
a whole archipelago of clouds -
pink water? islands?
Now - all gone. Just the
dark hills, limpid sky,
small birds singing good night.

sky, stone, wood, water
roses fill the fairy ring
green grass, birdsong, joy

this simple place of beauty
opens souls
bringing forth humans'
hushed voices
wind, stones, meadow, sea

beautiful land
beautiful sea and sky
we must keep it clean
work hard - we can try

whispering warm breezes
clear dark blue ocean
sailboats everywhere
thanks for saving this
beautiful place

at my favorite place in the Mid-Coast
with my favorite person
not a breeze. crested the hill from
shadow to rising sun. Does not get better
in any church. Thank you God.

family coming, food to cook, especially
lobsters to boil - babies to look
after, family to "monitor"
life goes on, gleefully - I am
ready - this place is where it begins.

on the eve
of our granddaughter's birthday
we are honored to be
perched on a mountain
gazing at a horizon
over the water
peppered with islands, flowers,
open fields and birdsong
we remember the continuity
of life, and are grateful

escape won't happen
it's not supposed to -
we ride this hill
as the world spins
beneath our feet
then spin off into space
as the dervish turns
ever turns
even barren and dry -

may this place be
a drag on time
and a weight
unto my feet.

we listen to the fullness of birdsong

morning haze obscures
the far distant shores
leaves island edges softened
against the warming sky.

I look west to a windmill
east to two lobster boats
south to the flat, reflective Chickawaukie -
the birds raise their song
in gladness that touches
us all

moves across
the hill like
wind blowing

His impulse is to name the names -
North Haven, Vinalhaven, Isle au Haut
to analyze the construction
to analyze, to understand
there is a faithfulness in naming
I will be here long enough to
learn your name...
and a distancing, as if I could
ever understand you.
The path lies between knowing
and being willing to
not know.

"All the experience thrifty bees demand
such are the themes of my song"
Virgil - The Georgics

soft wind whispers warm
Hills, Haze, Ocean, blue-green life
Home to myself here.