"chronicler" poems
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
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
A dreamer finds her way,
Well-her and her companions
She met a previous day-
They speak a strange tongue,
But that is quite okay;
They march through pastel
Landscapes
From place to place
From quest to quest
Another dragon?
Another princess?
(That seems a bit cliche)
But she is quite content
And I am no character
In this event
Just its chronicler
They slay the dragon
And take its scales to market
The princess, with a good degree of flair
Takes a ride with her companion
(Did I mention he’s a bear?)
The dreamer is offered lodging
By a grateful King
She steals his bed at night
(They kind of have a fling)
And the sun crests the horizon
And our hero goes to work
Her friends will wait for her tonight
Did I mention she’s a clerk?
Aug 23, 2023
Aug 23, 2023 at 1:36 AM UTC
The Vault stands resolute
Against acidic Time.
It must have much to say.
There is much it must have seen.
It's steady, stony gaze
Is all that now remains
To stand guard over nothing;
Duty-bound to stay.
What resides within?
It is aching to become known.
What resides within?
We rush the beckoning gate,
We push and pry and pull.
Today is a first for the Vault:
For the first time it loses a fight.
The darkness confronts us,
Accusing and severe.
Apprehension crawls up our spines:
What has been hidden here?
What resides within?
It is aching to be known.
What resides within?
We set foot inside,
Our steps unnervingly loud.
The cold sun nips our heels.
The darkness caresses our brow.
What's that ahead?
I believe it is light.
The faintest of glimmers:
Thin golden thread.
What resides within?
It is aching to be known.
What resides within?
With the greatest of caution
We open this new door.
Beyond is a strange old creature,
Back to the wall, sitting on the floor.
His flesh is pale and creased,
But his eyes are anything but idle.
"What is this place?", we ask.
His answer comes with a smile:
"This is Man's Vault.
It is a reservoir of what we were
Long before the missiles or the disease
Or by both we all were burned".
"Who are you?"
"I am the Curator, the Chronicler.
This place is of my own work.
I've spent day and night here,
Building it with record, picture and book."
"What may we do with it?"
"That is for you alone to decide.
The collection must pass to new hands.
My purpose here has been served.
In this present realm I will not much longer bide."
On concluding his final, heavy quatrain,
He breathed his long life out.
And the liveliness from out his eyes did drain
For several minutes, we stood in silence.
As a weight pulled down on our hearts.
A race had died before our eyes,
And left to us its inheritance.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
Why waste any second
when I could stare in your eyes
and watch it all unfold again
Slowly as time slips by
like a Chronicler.
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 6:28 PM UTC
An ancient tree stands gnarled and withered,
Below it is its age-old roots;
A story great it has delivered
Of newfound power, stomping boots.
If it could speak, this tree would tell
A tale of old, the aeon's race;
In depths of earth, as deep as hell
Sits a long-forgotten grandiose place.
But close behind this tree that speaks
There lurks a psychometric's dream;
A second gnarled and hunchbacked tree
That still remembers human's scheme.
The tales of old are not yet lost,
For here we see this ancient tome
Who, whether it knows it or not,
Remembers what's beneath the loam.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
I often ponder the thought of living forever
Immortal
The weary heart chronicler
Of one last cold December
Death does nary escape my mind
Yet who is the keeper
What specter
keeps its watchful eye on time
Stuck in a daydream
Yet I see life written
So clearly across the sky
What fate awaits eternal eyes
Whose lips
Shall be my last kiss goodbye
Would I be stricken lonely
To witness life’s flourishes
As they slowly
Recede below me
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 10:13 PM UTC
FORCES OF CREATION
Structure
.....continued...4
Time, a false perception,
has become the ultimate chronicler of existence,
unidimensional, unidirectional and constant.
The very birth of each individual Perceiver and Observed,
initiates its own filament of Time,
and once initiated, that pendulum remains in perpetual motion, forever existent and recallable for eternity.
Gravity, electromagnetism, nuclear - forces of interaction
to be continued.....
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 10:56 AM UTC
Your heart is living in my pulse
Like the chronicler beneath
The thousands of whirligig
Rocky pony necks me
As how the God of time piece
Treasured a tear of grass
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:17 AM UTC
SOMEWHERE RIVER
Somewhere River
winding through time’s corridor
silent chronicler
of the heart of man and its sacred inner core
sentinel of history
record-keeper
of life's mystery
it forgets never
night and day
its waters meander
through every remote bend near or far away
further and yet further
can you hear its song so tender
when the night is hushed asleep
when the tired moon longs for slumber
when the stars in deepest silence weep?
We are all like Somewhere River
we exist somewhere –each a traveller
through time, a lonely unknown wanderer
this is our life-story—what else should we remember?
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
OUTSIDE THE LINES
crayon drawn on crayon
a car crash of colour
“I’m colouring the colour! ”
colours hide in corner
rest of page a blank
“The colours are having a rest! ”
center page
an explosion of red & blue
“The colours are having a fight! ”
aBlobOfOrangeGreenHairPurpleEyes
her scrawl
“This is my bestest Dad! ”
one eye
balanced on my hair
other eye escaped from my face
Daddy
a multi-coloured
blob of slime
child drawings
on fridge door
chronicler of our lives
Mummy at least
has a figure
slim as a matchstick
Feb 19, 2022
Feb 19, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC