The Quahaug Seeker

The Quahaug Seeker By Adam Moore

Sengekontacket rippling gray

Waters had beckoned me to lay

My rusty basket rake upon

The sandy bottom of the pond.

I grasped, as did I deeper wade,

A rope with braided fibers frayed,

And with it tethered bushel wire,

Afloat in rubber tube from tire.

To quahaugs rake, to harvest reap,

Sea Breeze

Sea Breeze

Alas! the flesh is sad; the books I’ve read already —

O to run away! To flee! I feel with birds their giddy

Flights between unknowns: sea-foams and skies!

And nothing, not old gardens mirrored in bright eyes,

Can now hold back this heart — o sea-drenched nights!

Nor, on this empty paper, lamp-light’s

Desert clarity, whose whiteness keeps it undefiled;

Chappy Shadow Walk

Chappy Shadow Walk

I took a stroll this morning, before the sun would shine,

down Cape Pogue Ave to Chappy Road, and met a good friend of mine.

Across Dike Bridge and to the beach, we stopped a while to rest,

and each time I turned to look for him, he was always to the west.

We walked along in silence, but I had a lot to say,

past Poucha Pond along the shore until we reached Katama Bay.

West Tisbury Library’s Limerick Winners

Winner’s Circle

I’m trying to rhyme the word “Vineyard;”

Thank goodness it isn’t a sin word.

Unlike that Nantucket

Where oaths fill a bucket,

We keep our frustrations all inward.

— Eileen Maley

A man with no key to Quansoo

His paltry investments did rue

With portfolio tanked

That bright shining bank

Could only be reached by canoe.

— Beth Parker

Tom

Tom

They broke the mold

When he came out

One look was all

You need

A singular

Relentless soul

In every word

And deed

He fished by trade

But gifts he brought

Whenever he’s ashore

Pianos tickled

With his ways

Oysters for evermore

Bless the soul of

Tommy O

Bless his heart indeed

He rambled

And he lusted

Yo

Paying Solemn Tribute to a Lost Lieutenant

Northeast wind blowin’ whoo whoo

Rain and sleet with wet mixed in snow

The ducks were flyin’ fast and low.

Bam, bam, I heard him down in Quenames Cove

Had to be D.P., wouldn’t you know.

Not long after in the murky dusk

A camouflaged figure with several ducks

Cold and wet right to the skin

But when he got near I could see his grin.

Said hey there you, how did you do?

Poem: Gifts for All, Good Tidings for Vineyard

Editor's Note: Each year, editor Phyllis Meras creates a Christmas poem for the Vineyard.

’Twas Christmastime and good St. Nick

Was coming to our bailiwick

From the North Pole region with his deer

Who love the Vineyard — that’s quite clear

St. Nicholas’s deer take great delight

In browsing — they’re a pretty sight

In fields and woods while Santa works,

Delivering gifts and special perks.

This year, he thought that he should land

At the blinker light with his deer band

For browsing’s good

In the neighborhood

Juniper

Juniper

juniperus communis

called jenever by the Dutch

green and young, female seed cone

a fleshy berry used in gin

another life when you mature

piney and resinous

your berries beautiful blue

for seasoning, aromatherapy, medicine

native tribes chewed you to ward off hunger

your seeds become beads

Navajo necklaces for protection

I cut boughs from your strong trunk

like the ancients I bring you inside

Late Summer Luncheon

Late Summer Luncheon

Editor’s Note: Last fall Marlee Fox, a senior in high school, was mulling over her creative writing assignment. It was a cold, blustery day in Annapolis, Md. where she lives and her thoughts turned to Martha’s Vineyard. For several years now her family has been visiting the Island for two weeks each summer.

She wanted to capture, “that feeling you get in your stomach when it’s summer for the first time,” she said.

The Poetry of Paying Attention

During the last presidential campaign, the poet Naomi Shihab Nye had the daunting task of introducing Caroline Kennedy at an Obama campaign event in San Antonio, Texas. The honor was made particularly formidable because Ms. Kennedy’s plane had been significantly delayed.

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