Cancer/writing Journal #91

Here are companion poems I wrote for my writing group. Calling them companion poems was not my idea but rather someone in the group. It works though and I'm going with it. They were well received, I think. They had some suggested revisions, most of which I have made. They liked my wife laughing in the surf and my liking that. They liked not coming to South Florida for the shade, as did I. My wife said I must have liked it since I said it so much. I don't think I said it all that much. Two---three times tops.


 On the Beach 
 Lake Michigan
 Mid-October

We walk along the shoreline of Lake Michigan.
Several million miniature clam shells amid the sand 
make a pleasant crunch under our feet with each step. 
Piled up in places, profuse abundance, 
a feast for whatever got to the meat from these shells.

The horizon, a line as straight as straight lines get. 
The colors of the water and the sky, multiple hues of light blue. 
Along with the light brown beach, I think of the colors 
of the Immersive Monet event we saw yesterday in Milwaukee.
Light, bright and cheerful, the sunlight bleaching but sharpening
the variety of this portion of the palette.

Off in the distance, a flock of white birds whirl and dance over
what must be a school of tiny fish. The birds fly in tight formation,
a flash of bright white when the sun hits one of them right. 

The deliberate rhythm of the surf, 
unfamiliar to our landlubber ears.
Only moderate but still bespeaking power. 
Big water has been missing from our lives.


 On the Beach 
 South Florida 
 Atlantic Coast 
 Mid-November

 The light blues of the sky and water, 
 the light brown cream of the sand 
 come from the same part of Monet’s palette
 as Lake Michigan’s shore. 
 The surf though is the muscular big brother
 to the dainty things we saw on Lake Michigan. 

 The ocean, stirred up by a recent hurricane,
 throws up breakers, vast and powerful.
 The sound of it, signaling its power.
 When I get in, I'm knocked around by a force
 that takes no account of my presence.

 My wife comes in too, laughing with pleasure and excitement
 as the surf breaks around her. I like her for that.
 We see a big one coming in with anticipation
 and a touch of dread. 

 Out of the water, we have a cabana that I don’t use much.
 “I didn’t come to South Florida for the shade.” I tell my wife.
 Sunburn, a souvenir of my time by the water. 

 All the uncovered skin startles my inland Northern eyes.
 Lean or chubby, young or well advanced in years.
 Women certainly but men too,
 I see more of it than I can quickly adjust to.

 Out at sea, oversized, extravagant yachts,
 Russian oligarchs very possibly in the line of ownership. 
 Nice to visit I guess but not really where I belong.

Comments

  1. Jan CJanuary 8, 2023 at 2:19 PM

    Thanks for sharing this, Charlie.

    I like the term "companion poems." Seems apt.

    The first one telling of a more private experience of just you and your wife and Nature. The second a more public experience.

    I love that last line in the first poem: "Big water has been missing from our lives." It contrasts nicely with the last line in the second poem: "Nice to visit I guess but not really where I belong." The first scene drawing you in as a needed and missing part of life, the second entertaining but not home, not where you belong.

    I like the comparison to the Immersive Monet exhibit, mentioned in each poem, which kind of hinges the two together.

    I like how one could see the larger beach goers as oversized yachts.

    Nice work!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. charlieschaeferJanuary 9, 2023 at 6:20 AM

      Thanks Jan again for your generous and considered comments. You are a fine friend to the writing side of me.

      Delete

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