Saturday, September 21, 2013

Reason # 856

I keep thinking of more and more reasons to live in Maine. Reason # 856 was added to the ever growing list today when Laurel, Samaya,Violet and I ventured like Old World explorers to Raven Hill Orchard, a two hundred year old farm about 45 minutes inland. The sun was winning its battle with the morning clouds. The last of the mist covered warriors faded into the apple trees as we parked on the grass. The ladies quickly took their bags and went on the hunt while I never left after spying a copper espresso machine in the hard times cafe. Stephen, the owner, made me some coffee  and told me all about how he ended up here by  following a lady to Maine and buying this farm. The dream ran away like the morning clouds although it took some years for that to happen--more like the dream stepped away one cross word--one look at a time. Faded newspaper accounts yellowing on the wooden walls spoke of happier times when love lived here--when people gathered here, when the cafe was thriving. I sipped my coffee (which I'm very adept at) and talked with organic families seeking bags for their organic fruit who came and went. The lost Stephen guided families to where they should go in the orchard while I picked up a jar of apple salsa and a homemade birthday card for Karen in a long abandoned rack. I resisted the flights of illusion that passed  by and refrained from cautioning the foreign tourists about teasing bears when they ate their mid day snacks from the trees. Stephen talked about the isolation of the farm when  there were no customers coming and going. I invited him to a gathering at friend's house next Saturday.  I thought about the impact of feeling alone in paradise-- somewhat like getting struck by a meteor listening to Don Maclean while watching Vincent paint the beyond beautiful "Starry,Starry Night."

Monday, September 16, 2013

Rediscovered Poem

Karen was going to give away a Baha'i book but noticed this poem on the inside cover. It's vaguely familiar. I know it was written for her. W.C Fields (sorry young people) fell in love with the word-"redundancy". He would say to one and all regardless of circumstances, "Pardon my redundancy". If I have posted this before, please, pardon my redundancy. I changed some of the lines though.
                                                          Once Again
                                                         I have a moon
                                                        If you have a June
                                                     I have a sea of flowers for you to sail on
                                                     Even a bed of roses to help you fall asleep
                                                     Oh, I know, you're an island
                                                    That at times I'm not strong enough to swim to
                                                    But on a good day
                                                     When the wind is right-the stars bright
                                                      Gold-not blue the light
                                                     I'll float on these words of love
                                                      To your waiting arms



Saturday, September 14, 2013

New poem-Trapped Water

It's been a while since I have visited my blog. Once in a while a poem comes to me and I have to let it fall out of my head. My hope is that it doesn't land on some poor unsuspecting innocent and give them a concussion. Random concussions suffered by innocent bystanders standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

                                                        Trapped Water
                                          A walk on the Maine shore
                                          Unfettered water on my right
                                         Roaring with the joy of freedom
                                      Speaking with the clarity of a safe heart
                                     Standing tall driven by the moon toward me
                                             While on my left...
                                     A murky, circular prison
                                     Filled with whirlpool thoughts
                                      Surrounded by rock hard walls
                                              As all prisons are
                                       A tiny fish looks for a way out
                                         I scoop him in my hands
                                          And turn right