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| Shore Path looking south |
Sitting on a park bench beneath a shade tree facing the bay, I wrote this poem....
Reverencing the sea's majestic hypnosis
While slow, methodical splashes
Of sea water wipe across bare rocks
And return back into the bay.
Islands in view, studded by tall pines,
Reaching as though needing to
Escape the grip of rocks
Cemented in the sea.
Buoys bounce, lobster boats go out to their traps
For the generous catch to haul up
To the lobster pounds to get monetary
Reward for their arduous labor.
Bar Harbor's mansions paint a landscape
Dotted with wealth and prominence
Down-East hospitality brings a twinge of guilt
For the culture from whence I come.
Nowhere have I felt the sacred peace of soul
As in the State of Maine
Where the path of simplicity and sheer beauty
Pledge a vow to comfort the resident.
Seaweed garnishes rocks protruding from the sea floor
Drying to an amber hue
A lone kayaker paddles slowly along with
windjammers, catamarans, lobster boats,
Motor boats and military cruisers on active duty.
Dear heart, you lay claim to the possession
of the sea
No matter where I may live,
you will remain in this charismatic cove of content.
One has only to indulge the senses
And give reign to the sixth
Which connects with the ethereal
Always beyond one's reach.
I sit where the sun rises first
Tomorrow I follow its westerly way
I engrave the shoreline
Onto my soul to take home with me.
A long ledge of fragrant roses
Fog horns echo across the bay
Where the continent begins
America the Beautiful has suffered sorrow.
Courage, hope, and determination embraces
This Land's horizon and clings tightly
To each individual heart bruised by
The terrorist attack.
From this sea to the other sea,
We grasp hands
Pleading for peace and freedom
From the evil that has stained our soil.
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| My Heart Lives in Maine |