The Aftermath (Beneath A Setting Northern Sun)

From the desert of Maine to the Old Port drunks, there is a northern flair in the air, where the lobster’s cheap and the accents trip their way across the tongue

Amidst a beautiful horizon, the whalers go out to play, relying upon, at times, the lighthouses to lift the fog that interfere with their vision occasionally

I hate to commingle my memory of you, with such a devastating blow; yet, impossibilities are just that and unfortunately often become intricately entwined to view

From the early morning antics of a summer sky, to the mid-afternoon parlays wagered at the track, I find myself lingering someplace a bit more to the north, just past the target, down the road from that Starbuck’s that there were some threats that it would close

Amidst a calming swelter, the heat chased the ambivalence away—and there I was, the good soldier of the evening that appeared too soon, counting, counting, and then counting the damages there on from—a herniated aftermath spilt from beneath that New England sun.

Over at D'Verse, Mary has written a really nice piece about place for this week's Poetics.  Very nicely she showcases the excellent song "Chelsea Hotel," by the incomparable Leonard Cohen, and ties her passion for Cohen's music and poetry into a really creative theme. I urge you all to read her article, then to reflect upon a place that stirs emotional significance for you.  Then, of course, share it with the poets of D'Verse.  Cheers.