Summer 2011

Thousands of Maine men
harvest lobsters all summer —
they always talk poor.

They’re boiled alive
and drenched in drawn butter —
lobstermen don’t cry.

Big two pound lobsters —
my late father-in-law loved
their succulent tails.

My wife picks at the
ravaged shells in search of meat
that can’t be wasted.

I am not kosher —
just allergic to shellfish
and loud tourist traps.

Dog with stick in mouth
splashes small girl in pink dress
while mom chats on beach.

Mother watches while
grandpa sticks out tongue and smiles —
baby starts laughing.

The teenie-bopper
with long legs and pink toenails
clutches pink iPhone.

Boy talks casually
about grandpa’s island house —
too young for hard chores.

Small rowboat capsized —
fortunately no one drowned
so near grassy shore.

Hussey Sound is cold —
even while the port swelters
under summer sun.

Their six-packs are warm
and their loud language too coarse
with children on deck.

My meditation
is just staring at the sea
with both eyes open.

Dandelions rear
their yellow heads and white manes
and roar at the sun.

Each grain of pollen
has its very own story
that  ends in…ahhhchuuu!

If words could explain
the mystery of it all —
there would be answers.

Casco Bay Ferry
mostly departs on schedule —
I always run late.

The ferry waits for
no man or woman or child —
myth and Maine are same.

I’m always afraid
of missing the ferry boat —
for good reason.

Rough young fisherman
with shaggy red beard and hair
lights a cigarette.

Young day laborers
were too broke to drink cold beer
and make loud rude jokes.

Two little blond twins
could model for L.L. Bean
in their white dresses.

Maine island sirens
barely conceal their teen breasts
in wrinkled blouses.

Whenever I
catch my mind wandering off —
I slap its slim wrist.

The white capped waves crash
against the gray rocky coast —
wind rustles through spruce.

No spiel about the
history of Casco Bay —
captain peers through fog.

The bottom of bay
crawls with brown hard shell lobsters
and old metal traps.

This is autumn light
but it is only June —
distinctly golden.

One day my ashes
will be scattered in this sea —
and I will be free.

5.21.10

Casco Bay Ferry
mostly departs on schedule—
I always run late.

It’s too cold on deck
for a brilliant May morning—
ferry plows green bay.

The deafening roar
of the old diesel engines
does not scare lobsters.

Munching on trail mix—
I watch grandfather cooing
at baby grandson.

Haiku doesn’t care
if it’s unread and unsaid—
life passes it by.

Mother watches while
grandpa sticks out tongue and smiles—
baby starts laughing.

Both bike tires are flat
after a winter in shed—
they wait to inflate.

Laundry on clothesline
strung between two old spruce trees—
motionless wet sheets.

Blue horizon line
divides blue sea from blue sky—
and me from myself.

Small rowboat capsized—
fortunately no one drowned
so near grassy shore.

5.23.10

Lone drone of siren
on cold gray Sunday morning—
What is the problem?

The tide has gone out—
old white lobster boat marooned
on slick gray mudflats.

Smashed tiny spider
and never gave it a thought—
not very Zen thing. 

Scraggly island teens
with cell phones held close to ears
are not on island.

Squat oil tanks in fog
filled with oil bound for points north—
terrorist target.

Boyfriend and girlfriend
below deck to avoid cold—
hands seek moist warm spots.

Baseball cap backward—
girfriend thinks it’s super cool—
but he’s still a fool.

Toenails painted blue
in a black plastic flipflop—
legs crossed discretely.

5.27.2010

Turn on the faucet
and water runs hot and cold—
thinking of father.

Cell alarm woke me
before dream cycle was spun—
ferry doesn’t care.

The buzz of big black fly
on cool bright May afternoon
spoiled paradise.

Roar of jet aircraft
fades from the present moment—
forget about war.

Maine island sirens
warble to their Ulysses
in old gray sweatshirts.

Maine island sirens
are seldom prim and proper—
but don’t kiss on deck.

Maine island sirens
jump with mindless abandon
into ferry wake.

Maine island sirens
barely conceal their teen breasts
in wrinkled blouses.

Wake of lobster boat
does not impact ferry hull—
it remains unmoved.

What kind of dinner
is a donut and water
with a banana?

Just lost my iPhone—
last month it was my wallet
with my sanity.

Just lost my iPhone—
no more 24/7
pointless emailing.

Just lost my iPhone—
I am lost to wired world
but not to myself.

Just lost my iPhone—
am both angry and aggrieved
but strangely relieved!

5.28.2010

Grandparents told me
That good clothes proclaim the man—
were it so simple.

Hussey Sound always
has bone chilling ocean winds—
the mainland swelters.

Both women on deck
have small cell phones to their ears—
Casco Bay gossip!

No man is island
in a world of cheap cell phones—
way too much schmoozing.

Boy talks casually
about grandpa’s island house—
too young for hard chores.

We’ll be docking soon—
didn’t have much time to read
about world’s problems.

Two little blond twins
could model for LL Bean
in their white dresses.

White ambulance boat
is moored securely in berth—
everyone is fine.

Smell of fresh cut spruce—
chainsaw still hot and ready
to make more new stumps.

White haired old lady
weeding around worn tombstones
and greeting old friends.

The ferry is late—
weather could not be better
so no excuses.

Memorial Day
traffic, barbeque and beer—
Where are the soldiers?

The light is late fall
but date is May 30th—
miss soft summer haze.

Time to go below—
too damn cold on upper deck
to write warm haiku.

Stern of oil tanker
is painted a crimson red—
looks like baboon’s butt.