On a clear Sunday morning
at the end of summer
I sit on my not-so-famous deck
to drink my morning decaf —
The cats are out around me
and the laps of the cutting waves
and occasional distant bird calls
grace my new? existence
which Eye have been questioning
of late
The Scraggly Apple
has no leaves now — it sits bare
for the birds and me
The surf tonight has a mournful tone
perhaps the cause is my frame of mind —
a young man is gone
my daughter knew him well
his family grieves together
while I walk out mine
Jevon Link came to Eliza’s door
ten years ago on Valentine’s Day
holding a bouquet of roses
pink I think.
She dried
and painted
them.
I look at her watercolour
every morning.
Here Eye sit
upon my deck
to live my life
oh what the heck
Ive had my share
if tragic woes
but Ive come this far
and so it goes
The cats are fine
Eye groom them well
to sit with them
for a spell
how long Eye say
to keep this up
but to be sure
Ill sip my cup
of Decaf pure
the finest blend
to continue on
around the bend
Eye hear the laughter
of the gulls
and wonder too
what theyre thinking of
they live their lives
as Eye do mine
to struggle onward
to rest a time
as Eye do now
to hear the waves
greet my ear
all my days
Eye found a feather
on the beach
sitting brown & gold
Eye left it there
for another’s reach
and for him to Behold
When Eye came back
It was there!!
In Its place upon the sand
so Eye picked it up
— It matched my hair —
and stuck It in my bow
On my dateless Saturday night
Eye walked along The Hawk Beach
to view a newly married couple
standing clothed in the waves
to be photographed
in pale gold sun
soaking the bride’s gown of muted rose
She rose like Venus
with Her Man at Her Side
Molten Silver upon The Sea
You gleam for me
so naturally
I hear you break
upon The Shore
and wish to listen
forever more
Yesterday I was saved
not by Christ
but by my own fortitude
from the depths
of a mini-depression
wherein I lost my sense of self
my ability to care for myself
in the turmoil of questioning
My Purpose
and now today
I sit in my corner room
overlooking the Atlantic
to listen to the silvery whisps
of the birdsong
I love
wafting through
my open window
Eye had a lakeside cup of Bengal Spice
offered by Corinne from Pubnico
Who lived the life
under Her Canopy of leaves
of 22 years
beside the Lac d’en Bas
She saw a turtle
from Her Dock
(complete with wooden diving board)
Eye met Her Husband
of salty stock
Who showed me Art
found in burls
and tree knots —
a wolf, a whale, a dragon head
and out in His Back Field
His “Camouflaged” Trailer
to hide His Cars
amongst His Collection
of ancient tractors, lumber mills
and What-not
