Seaman's Ditty by Gary Snyder (1985) in "Left out in the Rain" published North Point Press, 1986

I'm wondering where you are now
Married, or mad, or free:
Wherever you are you're likely glad,
But memory troubles me

We could've had us children
We could have had a home
But you thought not, and I thought not,
And these nine years we roam

Today I worked in the deep dark tanks,
And climbed out to watch the sea:
Gulls and salty waves pass by,
And mountains of Araby.

I've travelled the lonely oceans
And wandered the lonely towns,
I've learned a lot and lost a lot,
And proved the world was round

Now if we'd stayed together,
There's much we'd never've known
But deary books and weary lands
Weigh on me like a stone

(Indian Ocean)

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The English Gentleman

The old English gentleman

is dying, on a comfortable cushion

he choose earlier in the day

to lay out in the sun

after eating a noon time meal

without gorging eating little and slowly

Then with eyes mostly closed

clambered up the woven chair to the table

then crawled on the cushion

to the spot warmed by the sun

and I went out to see him

and his eyes were closed

his breathing was regular but shallow

he turned towards me,

or the sound of my voice

and raised his head,

his blue/grey coat scruffy

unkempt, ungroomed

He has been coming around for a few weeks

eating at the community table

and finding a place to sleep on some blankets

put out for cold old men in this winter

he got along well enough

with the other visitors

sitting at this desk looking out on the porch

at the level of the cushioned the table

I hear a small restrained cry

and a long exhale

hesitating at first, I go outside to see him

as his breathing stops the cushion begins to cool

The Nurse

I will always remember
the feeling of your soft fingers
holding my arm,
in a firm embrace

then a motion
using just your fingers
leaving your moist presence
on my arm

then the  feeling
of stinging intimacy
then your release,
over too soon

the intimacy of your touch
my fingers exploring
the lingering dampness
on  my arm

my heart racing
head swimming
I reel away down the hall
infatuated

What Once Was Clear

what once was clear,

in stark relief, with details

engraved with diamond tipped tools, on a crystal plate

the smile, the colors of your eyes on a cloudy day,

the almost dimple in your left cheek

affect, produce heart pounding,

blood racing, trembling hands,

speechlessness, caring, concern

infatuation

embedded with the image

feelings return with the details when recalling  this image years later,

hand trembling at a gentler pitch,

heart racing  at a slower rate,  respectful of my age,

the color of your eyes were blue, no green, light then, no, dark,

and your hair was tossed by the wind

but was it long or short?

What once was clear is now covered

by loosely woven cloth,

not hiding, but obscuring details, 

that were once so clear

Rose Garden

The scent of roses drifted through the warm summer’s night air

as the moon climbed, filling the reservoir with light,

a cat wandered by, stopped for a moment

to get a pet and a scratch, then ambled away,

wondering, or not, why a food-guy was laying in the grass

above the amphitheater,  in the middle of the night,

Why indeed? Waiting for a liaison, to explain a decision

to say good bye, hoping she would ask me to stay,

to not enlist and perhaps go to a country that people didn’t know about yet,

or just to see her, one last time,

to lay on the grass next to each other, letting moonlight bathe us 

she came as promised, late as usual, parking on the road

at the top of the hill, walking past the cat, busy in the grass, 

down the gentle slope to where I sat, 

sitting down next to me turned putting her arms around me

a long hug, and strong kiss, before saying hello, I was lost in her arms,

I wanted to hang on, to not make this descent into friendship,

but she had moved on in the spring,

so I decided, in my despair,  to leave and go far away

the air force, the army, the navy, seemed like the best way

even though it was 1965 and there was war

tonight, tonight was saying goodbye, I was leaving

I wanted her to tell me to stay, but lost my words

expecting her to know what I needed , without my vulnerable-self  exposed,

without me having to say anything, to save me from myself

to make everything all right, but she didn’t

and we hugged for a long time as the moon went away

until the first golden light of dawn crept over the horizon

she had to go before her parents woke up, so did I,

we parted saying all the right things, vowing to write

but feeling the weight I expected to be lifted, settle deeper in my chest

I left the next day, flying to Texas,

leaving my home and friends,

starting a new chapter, with an emptiness I could not express,

it was August 1965, I wouldn't return for four years,

during those years the weight never lifted

Torture Chamber

Do you love someone?

and in return for devotion and longing, get notified

that you are just friends,  or best friends,

or even best friends forever,

and therefore, banished

to the friendzone

a box canyon,  with thousand foot walls

one tantalizing way in, full of unsaid promises

one way out, crawling on sharp stones,

beware

staying will settle like a boulder on your chest,

leaving will tear at you like raptors talons

until you can’t move,

cant breath

can’t live,

and finally, thinking  you must return to the box or you will die

today, the day of the heart,

are you listening to fables?

that the owner of the trap can’t find anyone

the world is empty

no ‘suitables’ and too many ‘settle fors’,

there is no one,  for them

why won’t they look around,

you say,

to no one

they have chosen to be alone,

blaming the world for not producing

their prefect partner

you also have chosen to be alone,

by being with someone

who has put blinders on their eyes

and you walk

the path of loneliness

together

The Cove

“…its dangerous, stay off the rocks, you’ll slip and drown!” 

the keepers long dead voices, 

sounding in my mind as if they were standing right behind me even now

“No it’s magical!”  (when you’re eight)

At the far south end of the beach

where the land rose up and turned towards the ocean,

large rocks ,ballast to hold the road above, like a jetty

filled the corner,  and  ran out into the sea

when the tide was running in , the rocks got hidden

beneath waves , later when the tide was at the ebb

the rocks came back  , the crown, then neck, finally shoulders,

small pools teeming with wondrous creatures, at their feet

a boy could scramble across the rocks to get to the big pools

at the risk of slipping falling getting cut by sharp unseen things

and stand between the rocks in the small pools of water

and in these pools, become part of the magic

                       

hermit crabs scurrying out of reach, starfish silently watching,

muscles, seemingly easy prey, hung on against prying fingers,

small darters, tiny fish, too fast to catch, even when baseball caps were nets….,

aloof anemones, tentacles waving with the motion of the waves, whispering

“…stay here with us, don’t go home…”

Betrayal in the Surf

Utter despair, overwhelming
hopelessness
tricked again like Charlie

the dimple in the wet sand
a trick, Like Lucy
pretending to hold the football

walking through surf’s residue
sea foam masking evidence
of a clam

dig, dig fast
dig deep dropping to my knees
digging with my hands, in the cold wet sand

nothing,
no clam
the hole filling with sea-water

the dimple was a trick

Fishing from the Bridge

Away from the house,
fast and far,
fishing pole resting on Huffy handlebars,
down the prom to 12th avenue

each block further away from angry voices,
turning right and that much
closer to the bridge
that crossed the Necanicum

closer to snagging a bullhead
to cut up for bait,
to use to catch a sea-run cutthroat
salt water trout

if the tide was coming in

Surf Fishing

Morris Albert was a rough guy
strong, with huge hands
scarred from years of hard work

he had an explosive temper
especially when he was drinking
which, was most of the time

during the war he went to prison
for stealing jeeps and truck engines
headed, on Liberty ships, to Europe

the family was afraid of him
and tip-toed around
careful what they said, or did

he used to come down to Seaside
and spend weekends
at the summer house with his wife, my aunt

he passed his time drinking, playing cards
and digging clams, or fishing
on the changing tides

I was eight
when he started taking me with him
to dig clams and fish the surf