joyously happy memories

A memory from Maine

Winter Harbor

Cabbage roses big as saucers
climb a bench where the cemetery
overlooks the peninsula. We are
on that rocky finger near rows
of gravestones, sentinels
of the blue expanse and three islands
like a sea serpent diving
toward Cadillac Mountain, us

alone with pink Yankee granite
and stunted cedars more tenacious
than barnacles. Crowds of giant spruce
ring every open space, even tidal pools
are shadowed in thick branches,
awash in moss, broken clamshells.

Buoys dance on wavelets. You put
your arm around me and pointed,
There's Europe baby, but I looked
behind us at rusted lobster traps
beyond the dock and thought: Oh!
The sun is splashing into the end
of the ocean.

Birdcalls echoed a foghorn,
wind blew on the white stones,
but we just sat on a rock.

I have that cedar cone I held
in my palm. It's so light,
but my fingertips remember
its rough stony leaves, my mouth
remembers the soft corner
of your mouth, how the curve
of your lip tasted salty.

When the moon awoke
I heard pine trees hiss. You
breathed your secret night whispers.
I tucked a quilt around you.
 
I remember with joy when Dolf posted something about Perg being fist deep in Nipple's ass.

I'm still wiping away the tears of laughter.
 
The wind takes hold
just right.
Millennial oak groans.
We transform from slaves of the swell
to splicers of waves
and set out
towards a black mirage
hovering on a cyan horizon.





Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Iiiiii'm Popeye the sailor maaaaan.
*happy sigh*

Winter Harbor

Cabbage roses big as saucers
climb a bench where the cemetery
overlooks the peninsula. We are
on that rocky finger near rows
of gravestones, sentinels
of the blue expanse and three islands
like a sea serpent diving
toward Cadillac Mountain, us

alone with pink Yankee granite
and stunted cedars more tenacious
than barnacles. Crowds of giant spruce
ring every open space, even tidal pools
are shadowed in thick branches,
awash in moss, broken clamshells.

Buoys dance on wavelets. You put
your arm around me and pointed,
There's Europe baby, but I looked
behind us at rusted lobster traps
beyond the dock and thought: Oh!
The sun is splashing into the end
of the ocean.

Birdcalls echoed a foghorn,
wind blew on the white stones,
but we just sat on a rock.

I have that cedar cone I held
in my palm. It's so light,
but my fingertips remember
its rough stony leaves, my mouth
remembers the soft corner
of your mouth, how the curve
of your lip tasted salty.

When the moon awoke
I heard pine trees hiss. You
breathed your secret night whispers.
I tucked a quilt around you.
*sighs again*

this thread goes well with coffee....
 
Sleeping on a hammock in my grandparents yard. The way the hammock swayed, and the sun on my skin . . . peaceful.
 

The anchor is securely set, we're inside the reef— the entire Atlantic Ocean is over the horizon. I'm sitting on a perfect white sand beach, the water's warm and lapping around me. There will be fantastic diving this afternoon. This evening, there will be a round of greenies in the cockpit as the sun goes down followed by copious amounts of charred flesh.


It doesn't get a whole lot better than this.



 

The anchor is securely set, we're inside the reef— the entire Atlantic Ocean is over the horizon. I'm sitting on a perfect white sand beach, the water's warm and lapping around me. There will be fantastic diving this afternoon. This evening, there will be a round of greenies in the cockpit as the sun goes down followed by copious amounts of charred flesh.

It doesn't get a whole lot better than this.


Wonderful.



Rock fishing with my brother. Just him and I catching lots of fish.
 
Oh! What makes me happy is knowing that I took a trainload of bad and made all of it into a lotta good for a lotta people. Even my pups.
 
*happy sigh*


*sighs again*

this thread goes well with coffee....

Thanks Chip. :) It's always dicey to post one's poem on the GB, but for me (and I know for Liar and you, too) that's where those memories end up--in poems.
 
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