Sunday, February 17, 2013

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.


  1. very interesting read a few times and was wondering what it was that commingles...def. a felt write and love how you paint the scene

  2. ooh it feels dangerous but the peril is out of frame. great character in the landscape.

  3. nice...a rather romantic description you put me in a place but leave lots of room for me to fill in ...very creative as well in the telling...the herniated aftermath split...felt..

  4. I appreciate the painting of your memory, standing like a good soldier of the evening ~

  5. You sure brought it to life using the weathered effects around, in such a space it was easy to follow you across the ground.

  6. Fred, you have really written to 'place' here in this poem and have shared a day with us. Wonderful details. Port drunks. Cheap lobster. Accents. Lighthouses.

    The middle of the poem takes the reader in a different direction before it ends with the calming swelter and the evening come too soon.

    I enjoyed this, Fred. Thank you.

  7. I read this, read it again. Thought first someone longing for DOWNHOME, switched to a Touuuuuuuurist reminiscing an east coast moment. In the end doesn't matter. The rhythm of it seemed, to me, more important than the imagery. In this case, the rhythm of the place; could be waves, the wind, the pace of people there, exactly how a lighthouse sees it -one flash, one flash, one of occult.