Saturday, January 28, 2017
At our hotel we went up to an outdoor deck where we were served le petit dejeuner of yogurt, hot chocolate, croissant, baguettes and butter, jam--more than we could eat. The young couple that run the place were very considerate and gave us anything we needed.
The beach sand here is a golden color. The island was built by a volcano. In the near distance we could see a smoking volcano, Montserrat. The water was very warm but the waves were so strong that I got knocked around a lot and came back with a truck load of sand inside of my bathing suit. The boogie boarders were enjoying it though. Norm didn't want me to try that again so we walked the beach and I snapped a few photos and appreciated the varied sounds of the Caribbean as well as a mix of people enjoying a day at the beach.
There are restaurants on this beach and we ate le dejeuner where we saw the most people. I ordered red snapper--delicious, and Norm ordered octopus. I sampled it and it was very tender and tasty. It came with salad and red beans and rice. We did not need to eat for the rest of the day.
For more information contact our favorite travel agent Jared Hauk at firstname.lastname@example.org
Friday, January 20, 2017
Her sound unrolls a bolt of star-woven cloth,
Her dance steps the spiral galaxies.
Sophia’s signature: the stars, the inner ear,
logos rhythms of nautilus shells, whorled
sunflower centers, DNA.
Sophia, we forgot your light filled flowers—
ancient people carved your name
in caves, upon rock faces.
A young girl dances among coltsfoot—
in the forest a fawn stands for the first time—
mermaid purses wash on shore from the sea.
White milk flows from the golden dome
where the ancient world worshiped:
A fern bursts through black asphalt,
a nun tends the dying in Calcutta,
an artist designs a rose window,
an unknown composer writes a hymn to Sophia:
Sophia’s sound and dance is
turning coltsfoot gold
sun and flower one.click the link
excerpted from my book Sophia's Lost and Found.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Singing sands speak of people
And in a high pitched key
Sing me to sleep.
Waves sort myriads of quartz grains
That sing of glaciers that crunched hard
Stone and sing of cities buried
Under the dunes.
I dream of First Nations
And flint spear points
10,000 years old buried under
The singing sands.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Lake Effect Snow
The lamp post wears a tall chef's hat
juniper branches bow low under deep
white weighty snow.
Wind pirouettes, now west, now north
in treetops, shakes down waterfalls of snow--
drapes sinuous shapes on eaves
where icy daggers grow.
With still more snow in its maw
the wind moans low.
Frost flowers sparkle my window panes
and still more snow.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
His long thin braids have deerskin fringes.
He wears silver and turquoise talismans.
Sacred datura, ceremonies,
sweat lodges, let him see
several worlds with eyes
that penetrate the darkness of caves
in canyon walls
where many old ones are lain.
He knows worlds within worlds
from Utah to Viet Nam
where village elders tell similar stories.
The Paiute shaman knows
guiding spirits will emerge
in the end when
fires and floods ravage
Then red haired guides
will take us by our hands
as we walk into time and space
and lead us out.
Leave Them in Peace.