Hour 12- Gathering

Here on Maui

we poets have a tradition

of beaching our poetry.

We shlub our chairs

across the sand

Wood, backpacks, jackets

Bags, a table, pens and notebooks, dinner, snacks

Booze, Water-bottles.

We make a circle around

Where the campfire will go

We write some poems

We make up challenges on the fly

We eat a cheap meal

 

The sun sets, we take pictures

Sometimes a whale or two will jump

Turtles peak out of the water

 

We build that fire

it takes two control freaks and a boy scout.

We pull out our lanterns and book lights,

pocket flashlights and headlamps.

The poems continue.

 

We share our products

our readings are almost drowned

by the ocean,

the wind and the campers.

We swat the bugs.

 

Someone starts playing music.

a song we have heard a million times.

Fishermen walk by

they wave their poles hello, like wands

We munch and churn

The wind picks up

then dies down

The sand blows as does the smoke

An ember takes flight, diving into the water.

Airplanes fly overhead.

We write and think.

We tell stories of poets

who have gone before.

 

As exhaustion overwhelms us,

We douse the fire,

collect the garbage.

We schlep the stuff back to our cars

always parked too far away.

We hug goodby

and drive back home

Bringing the beach in our shoes

 

 

 

 

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