Running to the Lighthouse
Posted on Jul 13th, 2007
by 
Catherine
Catherine
a poem dedicated to Portland Head Light, as if a lighthouse cares:-)
dawn disguised by descending clouds
an ocean mist and silence
the damp swings in like a curtain
a blanket of moist misery
washing ‘cross my morning face
tastes like tears, concentrated
with a hint of rotting fish
emotions of dubious vintage
stacked in my wine cellar
bottled and corked, but all in disarray
and today, today
I run through these dampened mazes
swirling, bursting along the way
long strides near silence, even my feet can feel the sighing
deep greens, streets full-arched with trees
hush and charm, lost in summer slumber
and I want the lighthouse
as if its majestic presence
has the power to realign me
so I curve toward the sea, bend up the hill
the knoll is steep, the grass wet
expectations are full for that bittersweet blend
awe and familiarity, beauty and strength
but while the oddly large drops of suspended sea air
defy logic and gravity, before my eyes
I’m snapped with surprise and sudden disgust
I see nothing where the tower should be
I lop up onto a bench, wanting sudden grandeur
squint with all my strength, but can’t pull out the silhouette
and since the lamp itself, only shines toward the sea
I scream through the soggy air, “where the hell are you?”
so to the rocks I go, knowing
that while there is nothing completely inanimate
stone and brick make their moves slowly
the lighthouse casually saunters into view
taunts me with its Mainer’s smile
bemusement, veneered with stoicism
playing silence games
“you come here seeking my metaphors
but what do I mean on a sunny day?
snap my picture, sit on the craggy rocks
talk with reverence about the strength of the sea?”
“go home and drink your coffee
clear the ocean taste from your mouth
if you don’t see me, it doesn’t matter
it never means I’m not there
after all, fog is my maker”
“and you?
you can hear the foghorn
from your own door”
©2007 C. L. B. Callender
dawn disguised by descending clouds
an ocean mist and silence
the damp swings in like a curtain
a blanket of moist misery
washing ‘cross my morning face
tastes like tears, concentrated
with a hint of rotting fish
emotions of dubious vintage
stacked in my wine cellar
bottled and corked, but all in disarray
and today, today
I run through these dampened mazes
swirling, bursting along the way
long strides near silence, even my feet can feel the sighing
deep greens, streets full-arched with trees
hush and charm, lost in summer slumber
and I want the lighthouse
as if its majestic presence
has the power to realign me
so I curve toward the sea, bend up the hill
the knoll is steep, the grass wet
expectations are full for that bittersweet blend
awe and familiarity, beauty and strength
but while the oddly large drops of suspended sea air
defy logic and gravity, before my eyes
I’m snapped with surprise and sudden disgust
I see nothing where the tower should be
I lop up onto a bench, wanting sudden grandeur
squint with all my strength, but can’t pull out the silhouette
and since the lamp itself, only shines toward the sea
I scream through the soggy air, “where the hell are you?”
so to the rocks I go, knowing
that while there is nothing completely inanimate
stone and brick make their moves slowly
the lighthouse casually saunters into view
taunts me with its Mainer’s smile
bemusement, veneered with stoicism
playing silence games
“you come here seeking my metaphors
but what do I mean on a sunny day?
snap my picture, sit on the craggy rocks
talk with reverence about the strength of the sea?”
“go home and drink your coffee
clear the ocean taste from your mouth
if you don’t see me, it doesn’t matter
it never means I’m not there
after all, fog is my maker”
“and you?
you can hear the foghorn
from your own door”
©2007 C. L. B. Callender
Access: PublicTagged with: poem, poetry, poet, lighthouse, Portland Head Light, running, fog, mist, ocean, sea, disillusionment, metaphor, spirituality
disillusionment
May 2008
This is absolutely brillant. Submit it to a literary magazine! I can't single out any one line this time. They are all brillantly powerful, and evoke something incredible in me. I can hear the foghorn - in the distance. The fog makes us all.
“clear the ocean taste from your mouth”—wow, this is just amazing on so many levels. beautiful.
What with Laura's wowing and otter's tail slapping I have to agree. Portland Head Light take a bow. You too Catherine.
Thank you all:-)
It is funny, but I literally wrestled with this one for days on end…
looks like I finally made it say uncle! (ha! take that you rascally poem you!:-)
(and Catherine (I mean Otter… I'm NOT actually talking to myself:-) perhaps I will submit this one… who knows!)
It has been brought to my attention here at the Bureau of Literary Management and Security that certain poets are using certain unlicensed terms and words. The specific instants here involve the use of the words “say uncle” and “you rascally poem you”. These phrases as well as the specific word “rascally” are considered unacceptable under Section 103, Article 14.001: Terms to be used in reference to the acutal experience of writing a poem shall be inclusive of the following: difficult, refined or refinement, reworked, tortured, gnash, strived, toiled, struggled, wept, doubted, bleakly, stricken, and dry-mouthed. Words and phrases such as “gave it a noggie”, “say uncle”, “slammed”, and the abhorrent “rascally” will not be tolerated. A fine will be forthcoming.
ah Ron! (big smile here) The fine will be forthcoming eh? (hmm I shudder to think… hope it isn't a noogie:-)
WELL the BLMS has not heard the end of this!!
I most certainly will use any and all these abhorrent words… as well as wrazzle and thrash my own poetry if the mood strikes me! (you can call me a brute.. but so be it!! :-)
In regards to your last response the BLMS has been conducting an on-going investigation for the past six months regarding reports about the condition of certain poems under your care. Several reports of bruises have been noted, three incidents of poems turning away from their readers, as well as two limping poems. Poetry Retrieval Services has been called in. There is the distinct possiblity of removing said poems from your care. Be aware of this consideration. We will be looking for improvements. We are vigilant.( I don't know if I can continue to do this straight-faced Catherine).