PASSAGE Surviving an August afternoon alone in a meadow of Queen Anne’s Lace I went inward like an animal of decaying light When night arrived I opened my eyes and walked out of my body slowly into the white flowering shadows of another life ~Lee McCormack, Cleaveland House Poet Stay Patched in! Follow Martha's Vineyard Patch on Twitter | Like Martha's Vineyard Patch on Facebook | Sign up for the daily email with links to the latest news | Got something to say? Start a blog and share your views.
Squibnocket Beach Hard rattle of granite shaken by waves– ball mill miles long making sand. In the intermissions, tiny birds feed between stones that could kill if they moved an inch. Next wave breaks and they race up the beach together. Birds gain dry sand, safe. Then new food draws them back to trace the edge of just enough again. ~ Warren Woessner Originally posted on Patch by Mathea Morais Feb. 12, 2012. The Sunday Afternoon Poems are supplied to MV Patch by the Martha's Vineyard Poetry Society, which embraces the largest community of year-round and seasonal poets. For more Martha's …
Emily Dickinson Throws Away Poem One Seven Seven Six She is at her desk late in the day looking out at the orchard and barn, at the lovers path between, and all beginning to quiet. The cows in the stalls, the bees returning to hive. The day long. The dying deep. The blotter clear but for one sheet a few words and dashes crumpled and left for the housekeeper to remove before dinner.~ Clark Myers Emily Dickinson was from Amherst, MA - where she wrote 1,789 poems. Today, there are ongoing readings of Emily's poems in her home. Her famous white dress is available for public viewing upstairs - …
A sense of peace hides the truth.Beneath this soothing white terrainnatural order disintegrates:in the burning, white heart of matterchaos reigns. Still — so still the illusionis complete, real and unquestionable —even wind steps across the driftsas silently as motion will allow.Arid light, the light a whisper,barely audible, smooth and white as it descends from someunseen source so softly there is nota ripple of anxiety in its voice.Indecipherable, words disappearin the serene, white thrumuntil language is lost and meaningbecomes an invisible river flowingbeneath its steady, blinding chill…
Life can be so kind Life can be so cruelIf you look you'll find We all play the foolWe all play the gameWe all feel the painWe all watch and wonderNo one can explain Why are we here?Why all this hate and fear?Surely this isn't the wayNow's our chanceJoin in the DanceHear what your heart has to say...Says we gotta love one anotherAnd the Earth is our MotherWe can help with the healingAnd it's all in our feelingFeeling LOVE Rick O'Gorman, Rick is a 3rd generation in a line of performing singers. He first came to Martha's Vineyard in the late 1950's while seeking shelter from a storm on a boat …
WE are the generation of witnesses. WE who have seen and felt so much. Not because of our age, but because of the age,Because of the enormously swift compaction of time and space.Because, of course, of the ever-grasping nature of the mind, our first tool. The mind before the stone implement, before the wheel.The mind before the telephone, the TV, the computer. The mind before the bomb.Everything goes in a flash in the atomic age, and we witnessing watch it flashing on the screens of our minds.Our minds are time's eye.Time passes, we witness time, time and again.Our witness is time's life.…
with intent of enlightened spirit unheard lyrics reaching across timeless crevasse gathered from colliding ley lines of ancient incantations a ceaseless warp and weft confluence of ethereal song rising and falling to passion’s rhythm long lost now found rising from deep damp throat of oracle’s sacred orifice I feel your voice lift dark veil away from blind eye’s face sands shift, springs whirl beneath my feet as air, sky, sun, water balance spins above earthly space - three plus one form vortex free turning in carved circle – round and round – ceremony of eternity step outside, grab broken …
Embrace can be like a flower Opening to sunshine Love can be like rain falling to earth Devotion can be like the sun always rising As my heart to you Tears can be like a caress, gentle and nurturing Gazes can be as the earth turning, Rotating between seasons - as light fading into dark Anger can be like a spider web Doubt as ice cream on sensitive teeth Confusion is a cold front meeting a warm front, from it will come clarity after The Storm Trusting is a wisdom, and knowing of the cyclic nature and a Remembering of the Present A kiss, as swimming in …
“Distant Drumming”by Jonathan Auerbach© 2012 Jonathan Auerbach, Arrofire Music (ASCAP) You see me, I feel you doYou see me play it coolYou want some wisdom Go find yourself a foolTell yourself a lot of lies, life can get a little numbingNothing wipes off a disguise like the sound of distant drummingI see you trapped, I watch you fightIn a struggle to be freeYou find out that love comes with a busted guarantee You didn’t hear the call You didn’t see it coming Had you listened at all you’d have heard the distant drumming Some feet can walk forever and never find no rhythmSome hearts can’t get…
This poem was recited by Lee before an audience of over 2,000 at JawsFest 2012 They come to us in silent beauty Without mercy or rancor or wings A terrifying radiance of ghosts and angels Gliding gracefully out of the shadows Under man’s primitive, unconscious fear. They come following a single drop of blood In one million parts water Through Nature’s rapacious currents of hunger, Bearing 400 million years of Earth’s history And up to forty thousand teeth, in jaws That, in a single lifetime, will receive Everything the seas offer without resistance. They come from the original, genetic …
Come along, let’s hikeForbidden property again this year.We’ll sit on summer porches if we like,Now that the coast is clear. Our chins and cheeks will numbBut come, let’s walk some distant neighbor’s land.We’ll view his view and taste the odd beachplum;You need not hold my hand. We’ll walk the winter shoreBeyond the wild grapes withered in the gale,Embalmed bayberries even birds ignoreAnd eelgrass pickled pale. We’ll ask each other why(Of all the places in the universe,Before our summer neighbor’s shuttered eye)An island would rehearse Interment every yearAnd reach our normal turning-point, …
12/12/12 lady of Guadalupe a woman clothed with the sun moon under her feet twelve stars crown her headprotector, virgin guard Latino homelands lead us to justice and peace today everyday everywhere12/13/12 Lucia, martyr, pure your day celebrates light like the candles you carried in dark underground tunnelsto find your way to feed prisoners to give hope to survive adversity12/14/12 Kali, adorned with plumes help us to be the always hopeful gardeners of the spiritwho know that without darkness nothing comes to birth as without light nothing flowers12/15/12 Eleanor, from Helen helios, sun, …
A gray cloud hangs ominously On the horizon, overshadowing The last golden rays of the sun. Below, Damocles waits; The sword hangs by a hair! In a great white building Men and women squabble - Moving chess pieces to Make decisions that affect Crises of lives and livelihoods, One-upmanship the game of the day. Meanwhile the black cloud grows, And thunder begins to rumble. Lightning flashes in the cloud. A man comes out of the building - Waving and crying triumphantly, “We got what we wanted!” And the thunder rolls, and brilliant Bolts of lightning strike the ground. The rains come, and the…
A man studies the foreign nature of his body,the scuttle and rush of salt and potassium raising his bloodto determine the stuttering tattoo of his heart, the hungerand satiety of mind phasing in and out of fog and sunlight,the synesthesia that denies logic any single absolute,the synapse that allows the rhythm to continue. For years he studies the violence, the quiet motionin the pause and space of silence between each breath,and in his spine, a notion of a place where he can linger,rest and reside, while he tries to learn the languageof his immigrant flesh. And the weather, the oceanwind …
A Man of a Certain Age I am a man of a certain age; You're glad you are not me But, in what seems an instant if you're lucky, you will be For those who crave eternal youth or to age gracefully. Who fear the well of love runs dry, or brackish with pity It is not a well at all; more, an ever freshening spring. It does not come from outside, It comes from deep within. So, in The Spring of Love this spring of love, to one directed Except one tiny rivulet, which, wisely, I deflected To, over years, create a store to share, or give away To those for whom I feel it; have no fear, it is one-way. Love…
November Perfect gray day leaves dead or dull green. Today I go where I want, fit in, push through the tall weeds in my old coat not hurting a thing. Most birds long gone - mosquitos frozen out. Down the creek, one muskrat hunts for food under a fallen box elder. I stand on the bank content but lonely, no friend along, no way to celebrate the good news. ~ Warren Woessner (from "Storm Lines") Warren Woessner is Senior Editor of poetry magazine, ABRAXAS. His most recent collection of poetry is Clear All the Rest of the Way (Backwaters Press). Warren is a part-time resident of Edgartown and …
Sandy What a fitting name Sand born of rock Transcended time On it’s patient way From bones of earth to Dust in wind Taxi of a traveling scream Awakening souls Why does it take the wind descending To bind so many men In awe and fear to fathom Power that often seems so far away Out of sight … out of mind Why does it take the howling in the darkness To make us feel each other To remember how we used to be The eye of the storm is always Within us all each day Bound at core Yet making believe Distance serves our days… Wind and salt Cleanse the wounds Release the faults Renew the moons ~ Betty …
Giving Soul to the Body "think with your wings!" the wind cries folding and folding itself around me "jump with your heart, give soul to the body!" the sky calls so i jubilate and rock this feather light branch that is my self roll and lift these heavy earth-clothed bones and raise something greater into the ether i fly because i have to i fly because the sky is blue and curves in such an endless, weightless belly above me i want to curve just so with the wind around my hips and my hair flowing with sand i want to stand atop this dune amid the rushing of the world and feel something just a …
Where The Beach Starts To Bend I met an old friend where the beach starts to bend As I walked with my dog today. She noticed my face then shortened her pace, She seemed to have something to say. "Where have you been? What have you seen? Has time been good to you?" "I've been on a farm where no one can harm All that I find to be true." She pulled back her hair and asked, "Do I dare Visit this place you call home? For large is my load and long is the road Down which I've started to roam." "Your answer is yes but I must confess that it has no address And to some the path is obscure. Let patience…
I wrote a poem this morning, mailed it to my email newsletter list... and it's already arrived on facebook before me... I feel so slow, so barefoot and backwards when it comes to technology... What do I know of joy ~ except it is a word that I have savored? A word so much like God, full of promise and tender relating. What do I know of Joy, except it is a gift that I have opened to find the forgiveness, wonder and welcome that breathe life into my life? ~Ingrid Goff-Maidoff
