by Jim on August 26, 2009
TEN PHOTOGRAPHS
“What’s that?” she asked me, pointing to the wall
above my desk. “A photograph, a down-
load from the Net, the house we rented near
Monhegan’s southern tip last year,” I said.
“My gosh,” she grinned, “you’ve got a hundred of
them!” “Only ten,” I told her. “Only ten.”
Impromptu workplace shrine, these scenes from fall
and winter in a place I’ll never own
a house, or visit more than once a year.
So why its grip upon my heart and head?
And how do I explain this muddled love
I feel to all the folks who’ve never been?
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I wish that I
could go.” “Ah, wishing rends the heart,” I sighed.
L.E. Wilson
by Jim on August 19, 2009
MORE SCENES OF ISLAND LIFE THAT WANT PAINTING
an aerial view at night from out beyond those stars
of illuminating fires burning within each
darkened house or studio
this never changing horizon:
the ever-deepening blue below
infused from above with a shifting yellow
and some pink, painted solely to express how
you can inhabit a place so fully that it begins to inhabit you
while still refusing to give up anything of itself
that large watermelon
a tip for a lawn-mowing job
the woman who mowed the lawn
her friend, the boat captain,
several other islanders serendipitously
passing by, and the best knife among them
for carving the fruit–before it continues
on her shoulder down the road
half of its original mass
sparks of sun on tops of trees
whose undersides of leaves shiver
in a relief of dark green against the unrelenting
blue, insistent as a pool of water, drawing
beckoning one closer, straining
the back of the neck
if only one could paint the quiet surrounding
the island studio furthest out past Lobster Cove
where any movement of the grasses might be heard
if only one could stand still enough and hold one’s breath
long enough to sympathize with the grasses
Karen Murphy
by Jim on August 12, 2009
AUGUST 1957
– for R –
wed just two days
our trusty ten-year old Pontiac, brand new to us
“only 4000 miles on it — I just drove it to church on Sundays”
spent half of the eight hundred dollars we’d saved
the other half for our honeymoon – his first vacation in five years
Natural History magazine – a tiny ad
The Island Inn, Monhegan Island, Maine
American plan (lobster dinners extra)
ocean views, forest walks, swimming, quiet
ferry from Port Clyde
salty breezes, soaring gulls, seafoam,
fresh air!
welcome! our little room overlooks the meadow
down to breakfast – grey-haired heads turn and stare at us
then smile and warmly greet the newlyweds
a hazy morning
walking through Cathedral Woods
towering firs, soft mossy carpet, lush ferns and tiny summer flowers
follow the trail to Whitehead
we hear the pounding surf
and come upon the grandeur as the fog lifts
to reveal the craggy cliffs and raging sea
grab the box lunch and away to the cove
greet an artist capturing the beauty of the day
barnacles scrape but blood goes unnoticed in the icy swim
luminous jelly fish float around me
something tickles my legs, swims away quickly, returns for a nibble
we picnic on the sunny rocks, delighting in the clear air
watching insects and birds – names unknown to us: citydwellers
after supper we gather on the porch, an evening ritual
gaze across to Manana – hermit’s sheep roam the hillside
I shiver and he puts his jacket round my shoulders
holds his arm there
grey heads nod their approval
and we all sigh as the sea blazes with the glory of the setting sun
then fades quietly into the starry night
Pam Shack
