The Poetry Marathon

The ski chalet,
a wooden two-story
in Lafayette Acres,
Franconia, New Hampshire,
north of the Notch:
its owners
left it vacant
during the summer.
Someone needed
to look after it,
and so it became
our family’s (rented)
vacation home.

Franconia!
I miss your sights:
Echo Lake,
the Frost Place,
the Hillwinds,
the Grateful Bread,
Polly’s Pancake Parlor
(that’s neighboring Sugar Hill,
but no great matter),
Bishop’s Ice Cream,
the Village Store,
the Dutch Treat.

I had a yellow ten-speed,
handlebars taped sloppily
with feeble masking tape.
I’d ride this bike
from Lafayette Acres,
down Magowan Hill,
past the River Gale,
under the overpass,
up Route 18
to the center of town,
a dozen or so buildings
dotting either side
of the sleepy one-lane road.

I miss the Old Man
who crumbled to earth
some years ago, ’03 it was,
the God-hewn rock-face
on the side of Cannon Mountain.

I even miss the names
of your old-time politicians:
Gallen, Sununu, Gregg.

I miss your thunderstorms
and fireflies. I miss
the drive-in ten miles away
on the road between
Littleton and Whitefield.

I miss being young
and writing elate poems
to your thousand-foot mountains,
mere hills compared to what
other places boast.

I miss being a fidgety passenger
in the back seat
of the ’76 Monte Carlo,
gobbling up the ribbon
of Interstate 93.

I miss the hum
of summer bugs.
I miss the golf courses
where Dad played golf
and I caddied
enduring bad language
when he’d hit one
into the rough.

Franconia, with your dirt roads,
with your rocky River Gale,
with your staid white church—
Our Lady of the Snows—
which I maybe entered once,
you magic’d my childhood,
empearled my adolescence,
and mothered a hundred poems.
And so, this note of thanks.

oh you silent pebble folk

After breakfast filling the cart with goodies, books, crayons, water,

and anything else that seem really important to take

I would walk off

turning around the first barn then the next into the big garden at the back of the house,

there now I can see my trusted friend the big apple tree,

generous in summer with a huge canopy to hide the sun and cool us down,

and in autumn bows cracking under the weight of the apples.

I didn’t like them much they were too sour for me,

I couldn’t wait to get there,

my little paradise,

often the cart was way too heavy

but stubbornly I managed,

I had added an extra blanket in case of a sudden breeze coming up

and a chair for visitors too ancient to sit beside me on the blanket.

Glasses, plates, and sometimes I had to run back once or twice because I had forgotten some really important element to make my day even more perfect

as I grew older I keep taking the radio from the kitchen too and nobody was too pleased with me about that,

Then lunchtime came and I let myself be tempted by the parental call

and then came back for a siesta.

But while I was gone some dog or cat or both had sneaked in and was sleeping on my blanket,

and I would just lay down next to them and close my eyes

and just rest and enjoy the peace

till we were interrupted by the first visitor of the afternoon,

bearing gifts as a toll

to enable them to share with me that moment safe out of the sun’s heat

on a summer afternoon under the apple tree

Childhood was a long time ago.

There’s a difference between memory

and what we know.

There are places, sure, I remember well;

The sailing club with all it’s perks,

The mansion of my bestest friend

But few places held my attention.

I guess, it would have to be, for me,

The sea.

A place of fun and happiness

An escape with an endless horizon

Of possibility.

A source of interesting food and smells.

The ever soothing ebb and flow of life

At the edge of land,

Where anything could come

And anything could go.

I have lived, land-locked, for many years now.

Everyday I miss the sea,

It’s not a memory,

It’s what I know.

A school trip becomes an escape to get lost in my favorite place

Crispy leaves crunching under foot

Birds fly over head that like to avoid the city

The chill in the air is perfect for the apple picking season

The scent of the cider mill is relaxing as afternoon tea, but better

The brook running by is loud, but who’d blame her 

She’s excited about the peaceful place where she resides 

There are no beatings, yelling, or bullying, just natures smiles

The school trip escape is a good as cascade 

We explore leaf colors, moss, and animal tracks 

Maybe I’ll survive until time to go back

jj2017

The train rides were always fun
Going uphill, downhill, and through tunnels
Grandma was awesome at minding us all
With the youngest in hand and seven in tow
The fresh air always hit us as soon as the train would leave
It was only a short walk to the estate home
Where rubber trees grew and goats lined the yard
Holidays were special ‘coz this place was special
Learning to wash in the river and taking the goats to graze
It was full of childhood laughter amidst some silly antics
How I long for those carefree days roaming the estates

Wednesday afternoon
walking the few blocks down the hill
with a dollar in my pocket
past the Presbyterian church
and neighboring houses
through the vacant lot
to get to the shortcut
Sliding down the dirt embankment
to the parking lot on Rainier Avenue
I make sure I have my dollar
(plus five cents for tax)
then walk up to the window
‘Four hamburgers, please’

(5 August 2017)

You can’t see the successful professional,

The experienced traveler,

The great mom with happy marriage,

The wise, multi-talented woman I’m becoming.

You see faded,

Diminished,

Almost vanished.

Even with a splash of color

I’m invisible.

Nothing to offer.

Not a prospective adversary or mate.

Don’t need unsolicited advice.

Too slow. In the way.

Out of touch. Old School.

Unseen is an advantage.

I see you.  I see me in you.

I observe and know that you, too,

Will soon be invisible.

Just a car

Driving time

A gravel road

Our favourite song

Deep hearts talk

Listen and feel

A star lit sky

Swaying fields

Connection of love

Imprinting a moment

Inhale the memory

Hold on still

Still…I live

Through life’s uncertainty

Through life’s untimely incidents

With self and family

Still…I live

Whether the Sun rises

Or the moon sets

In joy

Or the deep darkness

In giving birth

Or tears and death

Life is rehearsed

It still brings the best

Srill…I live

That birds still sing

The children still laugh

In life we bring

Memories to the Past

Still…I live

The Earth still moves

When people pass on

Much is behooved

Our disappointments and despair

Is a part of life

Love hatred and strife

To care not care

But Still…I live….