"baltic" poems - Hello Poetry

1029 Nor Mountain hinder Me Nor Sea— Who’s Baltic— Who’s Cordillera?

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1029 Nor Mountain hinder Me Nor Sea— Who’s Baltic— Who’s Cordillera?

Welcome Back To This, Your Isle The rabbits beneath the deck, Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery, Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead, Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach, All inquire: Was it better wherever you went? Were the: Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin, Eagles, double headed, of Russia Herring, fried, creamed, wined, From the vendors on the docks of Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn, Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm, More impressive, Tastier than our striped bass, Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently For their chronicler to return? Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen Welcome you more warmly than your friends, The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls Who overwatch your steps and safety When hiking in Mashomack Preserve? Are the interlacing tidal creeks, Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged, Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island Any lesser than those of Scandinavia? Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland, More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe, Who carry you swiftly home to us? The National Geographic people say that in Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone Is one of the ten best in the world. Guessing they have not made it yet to the Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks! Were you unaware that our isle settled before Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg, Route 114 was a traveled forest path, By settlers and Indians, not serfs. Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage, The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace, Wrote not a single word, we observe. Your attentions, they did not deserve? The answers all, self evident. Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay, Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere, Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall, Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp. Silver Beach July 22, 2012

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Aug 3, 2013

Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Welcome Back To This, Your Isle

Welcome Back To This, Your Isle The rabbits beneath the deck, Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery, Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead, Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach, All inquire: Was it better wherever you went? Were the: Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin, Eagles, double headed, of Russia Herring, fried, creamed, wined, From the vendors on the docks of Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn, Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm, More impressive, Tastier than our striped bass, Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently For their chronicler to return? Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen Welcome you more warmly than your friends, The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls Who overwatch your steps and safety When hiking in Mashomack Preserve? Are the interlacing tidal creeks, Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged, Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island Any lesser than those of Scandinavia? Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland, More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe, Who carry you swiftly home to us? The National Geographic people say that in Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone Is one of the ten best in the world. Guessing they have not made it yet to the Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks! Were you unaware that our isle settled before Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg, Route 114 was a traveled forest path, By settlers and Indians, not serfs. Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage, The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace, Wrote not a single word, we observe. Your attentions, they did not deserve? The answers all, self evident. Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay, Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere, Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall, Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp. Silver Beach July 22, 2012