Take This Poem

Take This Poem

Take this poem. No. Really

take it. It belongs to you.

Like anything you read.

It belongs. Like Hawaii’s

swaying palms, weighted

coconuts, rungs tying

the trunk of the tree. All.

Yours for free.

What did you think

your first grade teacher

was giving to you? Letters,

words, a dog with spots,

Quansoo Forest

Quansoo Forest

Spiraled, twisted, screwed and swirled,

Knobbed and gnarled, hunched and burled,

Oaken shapes grotesquely curled,

Ever-howling wind has whirled.

From the stump and toward the sky,

Aged sprouts for sunlight vie,

Grapplings limbs are arching high,

Arms of wooden octopi.

Briny gale the ocean blows,

Striped Bass Population in Major Decline

Farewell Sunday on Martha’s Vineyard

Martha’s Vineyard rested quietly in the golden haze of her warmth,

Her sandy thighs cooling in the wide blue-white wash of the sea.

The passions of the night had wearied her,

But her rest was peaceful and she glowed,

Like burnished gold in the late morning, easy warming,

Sun of this so fine a Sunday.

A grey dorsal cut the crest of a Katama bound roller,

Gifts for All, Good Tidings for Vineyard

W est Tisbury’s Mill Pond was all white;

The snow on the cattails a pretty sight.

The mallards were swimming up and down.

A wood duck, too, was visiting town,

And hooded mergansers were having their day

While in their incredibly stately way

Babette and Romeo — that elegant pair

Of swans that assuredly add such flair

To Mill Pond waters were cruising about

Enjoying a breakfast, without a doubt,

Of cornbread supplied by Jenkinson, Joan,

If You Go to Sea

If You Go to Sea

If you go to sea you really must know

What to do when the wind she blows.

If weather bodes toward a nasty gale

You must, beforehand, shorten sail.

As the gale comes on and it gets quite rough

Head up to weather but don’t let sails to luff.

It’s a good idea to use a drogue

To keep the vessel under good control.

If when quite rough and stomach is sour

Thanksgiving

The Pilgrims survived!

For this they praised the Lord

And thanked their Indian friends

Who taught them how to live

In this different land.

Like them we pause,

From daily toil and furrowed brow relieved,

To feast and laugh and play and rest,

And tell ourselves how much we’re blessed

In this hopeful land.

Could they have known,

Long years ago, where Moses’ trek would lead:

Stiletto heels and MTV,

Hurricane Forecast

Hurricane Forecast

We felt the wonder

of the moment. . .

standing silent, awaiting

the outcome of an event unfolding

untouched by human hands. . .

wind and sea spoke with voices far away

but touching us nonetheless.

fear and hope we held in visions of

our own device. . .

— C. Glenn Sprague

Requiem for Little Guy

Requiem for Little Guy

Love’s embrace

Held thee

A short while — almost weightless.

Fly away

Little Soul

On butterfly wings.

Frail veil

Of human life

Slipped through love’s fingers — voiceless.

Fly high

Little Guy

On angel’s wings — all breathless.

Portrait of My Husband Reading Henry James

Rather, it is in the shorter history of America,

not England, not Italy, that we find ourselves

in the perfect middle of a rainy, summer afternoon

inside a 1930s shingled boathouse long since

beached on a low hill out of water’s reach,

and plumbed and electrified for habitation.

No effort has been made to hide its origins.

Old masts and spars wait in the overhead rafters.

Blocks and tackle, coiled in figure eight knots,

Remembering Dan Aronie

Behind his eyes the part of him

That always knew the joke

Till at the end the only thing he needed

Was a smile.

— Gerry Storrow, from Requiem

Dan Aronie died early last Friday morning at his home in Vineyard Haven. He was 38. Dan had suffered for much of his life with both diabetes and multiple sclerosis.

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