Siren of the sea,
Bewitching mistress
Ever she calls to me,
Siren of the sea,
Bewitching mistress
Ever she calls to me,
Slipping in, between,
the edge of earth and sky’s evening
setting sunlight beams.
Aging does not bow us.
Life events that bring us low,
this is what bows us.
Bowing to lives cut short bows!
Bowing to life’s burden bows!
Perched I identify,
calling to her, kear, kear, kear!
Redtail hawk mating.
Chirpings and twitters
in glorious morning chorus.
One cat quiets!
At nautical twilight
thousands of stars, civil twilight
out of sight.
An old cabin just off the Blue Ridge Parkway / Skyline Drive near the Peaks of Otter in Virginia. Found this place, and the nearby Peaks of Otter Lodge, Abbott Lake, and Sharp Top mountain. Lots of trails, hike, or tram, up to the peak of Sharp Top and either ride back down or follow the easy descent on a well marked trail.
Food at the restaurant is fabulous. A fall stay was an opportunity to enjoy fresh berry cobbler at breakfast, lunch, and dinner when we visited. Tranquil and restful with some of the most beautiful sunsets you’ll ever see with Sharp Top reflected in Abbott Lake.
April 20, 2015
Remember The Secret? Maybe it’s 6°s of separation, or precognition, or something? But…
Go back a couple of Sunday’s to when Yevgeniy Yevtushenko was the Sunday Guest and then I’ll tell you about this past Sunday, yesterday.
When I introduced Yevtushenko I mentioned that I first experienced his poetry through a Saturday Evening Post article in a 1963 edition. When I wrote that my youngest son and I were going to go to a huge outdoor flea market called The Elephant’s Trunk in New Milford the following Sunday. But, the ground was still too wet so that market, the opening one of the year, was postponed until yesterday. And our trip yesterday resulted in this.
We’d just started down the many rows of vendors and were looking at a young woman’s eclectic collection of tools, antiques, knick-knacks, and a box of magazines… Saturday Evening Post? The sign taped to the box said it contained 1960 editions. What were the odds? I squatted down and began to work through the copies. Half way, flip, flip, flip, flip back… Lift the upper ones. There it was! POST, The Saturday Evening Post August 10 – August 17, 1964 20c.
Banned in Russia:
A Soviet poet’s brilliant story
of his life and fight for freedom
under Stalin and Khrushchev
So maybe I’m making more of this than it just being a strange coincidence that right after I write about a poet who impacted my view of poetry and need to create poetry I’m reunited with the spark that ignited the fire.
dull breaking day
high scudding skies of grey
promise of rain