Wednesday, July 29, 2015

poetry walk - july 28 -

Beech Hill

turkey vultures slowly spiral
in thermals that rise
from blueberry fields that lie
either side of the gravel road that climbs
up to an old stone shelter that sits
on top of a hill in Maine that looks
over a blue ocean bay and beckons
to pilgrims who eagerly scan
the fields for wildflowers or peer
into copses for glimpses of birds that spin
songs into a morning mist that vanishes
under the hot July sun that will burn
still bright in some pilgrim's winter dream.

Robert Pring


Eating wild blueberries on Beech Hill - Maine -
A true story

An Egyptian Princess from outer space
one day
decided to visit Beech Hill.
She decided she liked blueberries so much
she couldn't quite get her fill.

So she thought about blueberries
in other forms
she could have on her way back through space:
gelato, blue yogurt, and ice cream -
Oh My!
and a smile then came over her face!

Friday, July 24, 2015

Poetry walk, July 21, Sharif Elmusa

Poetry Walk

As I walked up the path
of Beech Hill Preserve
I kept thinking of the snail of Issa
climbing Mount Fuji,
till a sharp stone warned my left foot
Don't step on me, else you will trip.
As far as the eye could roam the land
was many shades of green
flecked with red and yellow, white and blue,
was countless kinds of trees and shrubs,
pine and oak, spruce and maple,
raspberries, blueberries and honeysuckle;
with their mouths pressed to the ground,
they blossomed and multiplied,
without gadgets, despite the pompous popish names,
Populus grandidentata, Pinus strobus, Quercus prinus.
Lichen is the language of granite,
said the guide.
Only the trunks of trees
seem to grasp this tongue.
This is why I was overjoyed
to hear the whispers of the little wood-lily
I am in full bloom,
therefore I am,
or the fog that crowned our walk
and veiled the lake and mountains
declare, as if it were an oracle
After I lift,
and I lift when I please,
don't think what you SEE
is what you see.
The future stirs where the chipmunk hides
in the secrets it hoards.

Sharif S Elmusa

more writing from the Beech Hill Journal, July 21-24

more poetry from the ongoing journal at the top of Beech Hill

"but how can I not write...when there is a notebook
full of people's thoughts and feelings and
beckoning me to add my own?"


someplace far from home
amidst the endless forest
sun-touched wildflowers
happily-singing cedar waxwings
we found a trail
the one we were looking for

It wasn't too hard to find
but it took some time
the hike up the trail wasn't
too hard to climb
but it took some effort
I wasn't forced to do it
but I had to be willing
to find this special place.

As I crested the hill
the top of the mountain
the only thing on my mind
was a single word
the wildflowers lit by sunlight
the birds warbling their joy
the sea stretching all around
a gentle summer breeze

and all the sudden the world falls away
all thoughts of everything else
that weighed me down before
all gone on the breeze
I only feel the peace,
the rest, the contentment,
and all it took to find this
much-needed peace
was a bit of time
a bit of effort
and a willing heart.
It fills me
completes me
and I call it my very own
a peaceful home away from home.
I just might have to move.

Rachel J - Missouri


wind, stone, flowers, earth
the wind tickles my skin
a small reward for a short climb
the stone provides a strong seat
for my weary bones, shade from
the noon-day sun...
the flowers dazzle my eyes, a
dance of color to keep me awake
The earth gives direction to
my path, leads me to new
views, provides me with meaning


Thou has't thy beauty too
in the bared clouds that bloom
the soft dying day
and touch the stubble fields
with rosey hue -

John Keats


Bumpy lands ahead
greenery here and around
my heart is so full

My first poem

blueberries, ah Blueberries! so delicious
so pure, so quickly eaten.

This is a beautiful spot, with beautiful views
all around. flowers, greenery, fog, water, a soft
breeze, birds tweeting.

the sun, ah the Sun! illuminates everything,
warms everything - sometimes too much -
but not today - as I sit on the stone porch wall
of Beech Nut House on Beech Hill Preserve.

Poetry is not something I usually write
but how can I not write (a poem? prose?)
today, when I am surrounded by beauty
and calm and quiet and there is a notebook
full of people's thoughts and feelings and
beckoning me to add my own?

I hope you always remember this
perfect place. Any time life gets hard
close your eyes, deep breaths, and
visualize being here.
This is a perfect place.

climbing to the top
I really had to pee
it really was the prettiest porta potty
I ever did see


The grass so wonderful and tall
the blueberries so perfect and small
a place of wonder to us all

such a lovely view
and so many pretty fields
but then I look in a direction
I think

Oh How amazing and perfect a place can be
the place where the grass is so tall
the berries so small
a place of wonder to us all


Like life, the beginning
of this road is narrow
and rough, as it progresses it
gets wider and smoother,
surrounded by beautiful
vistas, flowers and the
abundance of sustenance.
this place is something
I will keep in my mind
forever to feel the
Peace of God all around
and in me.


burnt orange lilies
spark against
grass green ice tips
melt against
fat blue teardrops
squeeze against
bitingly white sails
jostle against
the vastness of one tiny ocean


Raspberries are red
blueberries are blue
Missouri's too hot
May I stay here with you?

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

more writing from the Beech Hill journal, july 7-21

More writing from the ongoing poetry project, written in the journal at the top of Beech Hill, these pieces from July 7-14

May I possess love and kindness
May I be well
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be happy

The sea reminds me of
my time in space
There are so many unknowns.
I am sure we have not
discovered its offerings
and probably never will.
Ocean discovery is exciting.

This is a beautiful place to come
and unwind from your life's
demands and problems -
a place to feel the wind
blowing softly by -
the flowers tall and small
releasing their refreshing scents
the ocean so calm and still
the mountains so tall and green
makes me feel at peace among
this beautiful land
that was created by the best
artist ever,
God bless you all.

I wanted to write
about the sea
but instead jotted
down things about
you and me.

Beyond Beech Hill

Schooners sailed past
the life they knew
was before them
and Penobscot Bay welcomed them

She rested against a stone pillar
and professed her desire to stay
but we both knew it couldn't be
for adults don't live fairy tales.

But as the sun retreated
and the blueberries strained
for its final attention
we kissed, long and tender,
and we knew our love
would last, beyond Beech Hill.

the ocean - many creatures
in it , the boats sail
upon its surface, and islands
all spread out, the ocean
that's beautiful, the ocean that's
near me.

I see blue
blue skies
blue eyes
and when i'm lucky
blueberry pies
therefore I cannot deny
my favorite color
to view, reminds
me of you and
the sea where
you can find me

Even in the haze the wood lilies glow
towhees trill
three sailboats make their way
up the bay
for a moment
I am alone on the hill
berries ripen around me

there once was a girl named Molly
she was joyous, happy, so jolly -
Miss Molly had a friend named Kate
their friendship was a glorious fate
one day atop Beech Hill
as they both sat and
enjoyed the still
they sat awhile until
they had their fill
then down the road they went
enjoying the time they had spent
twas their appetites they needed to tame
so they ventured off to "Long Grain"

blueberries - tiny, sweet, low, round
sod-roofed stone house
ocean, islands, lake
breeze, sun,
memories past and present

we chat and laugh and nibble our way
up the hill
like so many times before
and before and before

and, as always, at the top, a quiet comes.
in it I am grateful for all of it
like before
and before and before

Coastal Breeze

The cool coast breeze with
the warm sunny sun absorbing
itself on my peeling skin
the green grass with the
peaceful water sitting like
a blanket on a baby. Birds
chirping all around my tender
ears with my long blonde
hair in my face and facing
north near the water. I miss
my dog back home and
got here in my large black
flipflops and a skull top.
Too bad there is no hammock
here - if so I would be here
for hours and hours.


folks who know Maine
the sea, the coast,
the green hills, the morning
birds calling

quiet, humble people
clean, kind town
sailboats, dinghies,
lobster traps

fresh mountain air
back roads bike rides

Beech Hill House

Beech Hill House saved me.
in my youth I was lost
in my little yellow house on Old Rockland Street
I'd read in a tree and think
"who am I?"
I'd bike trying to find it.
I'd read trying to find it.
In all my endeavors I was lost.
From my binoculars I found Beech Hill House.
I made the trek. I walked up.
I saw the world around me.
It was here I found my purpose -
I found that no matter how lonely I feel
there is a great world around me
to make me feel at home.

It's time to make a little poem
asking people not to litter -
No Sir, No'm
we walked up here enjoying much beauty
only to find broken bottles and trash
so we do our duty
keeping the world tidy
is what we do
when it comes to taking care
how about you?

endless summer days
waves crashing against jagged rocks
warm sun
gentle water
fish as colorful as a rainbow
fresh smells

what can you see at the top of Beech Hill?
I can see a sailboat and I can see grass
I see a blueberry
What do you see at the top of Beech Hill?

Beech Hill, hill of Happiness
forget my cares
yay spaciousness

I see it
I love it
the boats
the waves
the ocean
the ocean

walking up the mountain
I see the flowers
I love them
They are pretty.

morning fog a
dense salt cloud
wood lily a bright
light from the lower worlds


water's green
ocean swells
I love how the crabs
dive into the ocean
the dogs swim
the seagulls fly
and the swallowtails land
really silently
you try to catch them
but they are too fast for you
swell up tent
fishes catch
go home, you've met your match
fishes swimming in the water
the fishes know you're in the ocean

a glacial urge to move
to rest here, in the sun,
fog, rain and wind.

blueberries on the bush
wood lily on a stem
meadow on a hill
all of nature in my heart

foggy with a sweet smell
I struggle to come up with words
as I desire to take it all in

100 % perfect day, gentle breeze
blueberries in my tummy
see more sails than motors
wild flowers of every color
calls of crows and meadowlarks
friend on cell phone - a signal even here -

blueberries are blue
wood lilies are orange
(this poem is sad
because nothing rhymes with orange)

shimmering sea
majestic mountain
whispering woods
fantasys flowers
blue-est blueberries
stony path
bitter breeze
splendid summer

I saw a frog.
I saw a lot of birch trees.