More Poems by Friends

  

           ~  Includes all the poems posted April 21 plus three new ones new ones ~

Kathabela Wilson    3/31/15

fly off

to your outer pranks 

April Fool

   

  

     Kathabela Wilson     3/31/15 

eroding shore she carries the house on her bike

    

     Lois P Jones  4/5/15

Bicyclists are known to fly

by on sacred days

when the wind is Wright

       Kathabela Wilson  4/4/15  

the way she sees it 

torn origami 

along the shore

     Kathabela Wilson 4/5/15 

deep sand no road 

so fly or walk on water—

the sheriff's rescue

   

     Junnie Starshine 4/11/15 

Land Erosion

Nature's reaction

to earth's aliveness

and movement

Land Erosion

Lady Journeyer

yellow shirted adventurer

on wheels adorned in red

Such is the perspective

of one perched

upon a glimmering Star

in the ever optimistic sky

   Junnie Starshine  4/14/15 

THERE IT IS! 

The lone bike ~ speaking through it's photographic image 

of hills and valleys, sands and waters

peoples and projects

... implying through it's lean against the tree

that one of curiosity has trusted it to carry her

where she yearns to be

in contemplation, wonders this one here

if such a vehicle has a 'name'

one of appreciation and dignity

 

     Lee Collins  4/14/15 

Here's sea sand that has shaped the world

Here are out banks that split apart the sea

Here huge waves of surf are wildly hurled

In grinding grainy crashing enmity.

I keep posting blogs but they don't stay

they are suddenly washed away

    

     Lois P Jones 4/15/15

She married a geologist for excitement.

Together they pounded ophiolites for enlightenment.

And since then each year

they drink cabernet and read Kabir

and ponder the surfaces of their environment

     

     Junnie Starshine 4/18/15 

bicycle in the cafe glow

wide observation within

blog does not bug

photos hide the squish

and vanish the sting

     

Kathabela Wilson  4/18/15

mosquito 

swamp monsters...

she wears purple

and houses martins

on her head

     

Briony James 4/19/15

deep in the shadows

the wildwood breathes

and blinks

in greengold light

poured from above

Mira Mataric 4/21/15

So far she came

And no further.

What could have stopped her

if not a friendly smile

of a local man?

Joyce Futa 4/22/15

after the storm

the swamp a brown mirror

knees of the cypress

like so many apostles

emerging from baptism

 

Joyce Futa 4/25/15

birds in flight circle

see where they've been

and the tree

where they will rest

oh, the fiery sunset

Looking Back

Currituck is a small Southern town on the mainland, from which the last ferry would carry me for a short cycle back to Virginia beach.  From here I could see the bay side of the northern part of the Outer Banks and remember the struggle.

You know it’s the South from the flags and the honoring of confederate dead, seen so often in public places and also on flagpoles at homes.

In the background is the Currituck Jail 

Currituck Jail was built in 1767, but it may have been reconstructed in 1820, so scant are the records, and so much revived interest in the Colonial Period.

Soon I'll be flying over the Outer banks
like I've seen birds doing all along

Reflections on Flatland

On this incredibly large and flat expanse of coastal plain (some call it a peneplane), I compare it to my history of flatlands.  The Central Valley of California, for example, is flatter than Kansas.  Just out of college, I lived in Fresno, where from the east window I could sometimes see the low line of the Sierras, fifty miles away; and from the west window, the coast ranges were barely visible.

Over the “flat” ocean, the number of miles you can see before your line of sight becomes tangent to the water’s curve is roughly the square root of your eye level in feet.  So it was on the Queen Mary II, one cold day on the cold North Atlantic, from my cabin at about a hundred feet above the water, I could see ten miles, beyond which any ship would appear sinking over the horizon.

Here in the swamp, flat is determined by standing water, and last night’s rain has swollen this creek, spreading it far into the forest.

Farmland that was just prepared for planting
is flooded by yesterday's rain

In the marshes, and viney forest of the Albemarle, I am lucky to see a hundred feet, except where the land has been cleared for farming.

What gave rise to this flatness and the swamp?  I respond in the present tense, like geologists do, as my narrative runs always backward:  As the ice melts, when the ocean is four hundred feet lower than it is now, this is not flatland.  Then, I am on a coastline much like the Pacific Coast looking to where my line-of sight touches the curve of the sea.  As the sea rises four hundred feet and backs up into the rivers, sediments settle in slow-moving water, building up the land I stand on today. 

The swamp rises a few inches here at the margin between coastal plain and the inland slopes of North Carolina.  The creek responds with ripples and babbles. 

Swamp Cypress with "knees" that rise from its roots

The dark opaque water of the Albemarle looks like something awful has colored it.  But innocently, it’s tannic acid from the cypress trees that gives it color.  “Of course we will go swimming when the weather warms up,” they say.

Pirates meandered along the Albemarle Sound, finding safe havens in its multitude of hidden back channels and buyable politicians.  Edward Teach (Blackbeard) is the most famous.  But I relate to Mary Reed and Ann Bonney for their intrepidity.  Google them if you wish to learn of female brutality and skullduggery.  

I much prefer the Iroquoian Meherrin to pirates, “people of the muddy water” who came here long before us and avoided the deception of written language.  Archeology, regrettably, is how we know them. 

They call it the Albermarle, and it’s a unique place—half land and half water.  My days in the swamp are fast ending, and I am just beginning to learn the story of how a community adapted to the challenges and opportunities of its unusual home.  The water is both a highway and a barrier, bountiful resource and threatening force. 

Poems from Outer Banks and Outer Space

  

     Kathabela Wilson    3/31/15 

fly off

to your outer pranks 

April Fool

   

  

     Kathabela Wilson     3/31/15 

eroding shore she carries the house on her bike

    

     Lois P Jones  4/5/15

Bicyclists are known to fly

by on sacred days

when the wind is Wright

       Kathabela Wilson  4/4/15  

the way she sees it 

torn origami 

along the shore

     Kathabela Wilson 4/5/15 

deep sand no road 

so fly or walk on water—

the sheriff's rescue

   

     Junnie Starshine 4/11/15 

Land Erosion

Nature's reaction

to earth's aliveness

and movement

Land Erosion

Lady Journeyer

yellow shirted adventurer

on wheels adorned in red

Such is the perspective

of one perched

upon a glimmering Star

in the ever optimistic sky

   Junnie Starshine  4/14/15 

THERE IT IS! 

The lone bike ~ speaking through it's photographic image 

of hills and valleys, sands and waters

peoples and projects

... implying through it's lean against the tree

that one of curiosity has trusted it to carry her

where she yearns to be

in contemplation, wonders this one here

if such a vehicle has a 'name'

one of appreciation and dignity

 

     Lee Collins  4/14/15 

Here's sea sand that has shaped the world

Here are out banks that split apart the sea

Here huge waves of surf are wildly hurled

In grinding grainy crashing enmity.

I keep posting blogs but they don't stay

they are suddenly washed away

    

     Lois P Jones 4/15/15

She married a geologist for excitement.

Together they pounded ophiolites for enlightenment.

And since then each year

they drink cabernet and read Kabir

and ponder the surfaces of their environment

 

     

     Junnie Starshine 4/18/15 

bicycle in the cafe glow

wide observation within

blog does not bug

photos hide the squish

and vanish the sting

     

Kathabela Wilson  4/18/15

mosquito 

swamp monsters...

she wears purple

and houses martins

on her head

     

Briony James 4/19/15

deep in the shadows

the wildwood breathes

and blinks

in greengold light

poured from above

 

   Sharon Hawley 4/11/15

another stop

at a fast food

old man alone

talk with the past

geology

Edenton

Perhaps you think Edenton, population 15,000, was named after the Garden of Eden—its  idyllic setting on the Albemarle Sound, quite water, vacation spot for geese, history from the early colonial period.  But it’s not.  Edenton was named for British Governor Charles Eden of North Carolina Colony, 1673-1722.

I wanted to find him buried under the magnolias at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, but after some inquiries, and considerable searching, I found only this indecipherable image on the internet.  Eden was accused of being soft on pirates, especially Edward Teach ("Blackbeard"), whose bounty he was rumored to have shared in return for favors.  Others praised Eden for fair and conscientious leadership.  Neglect for such a figure in a town named for him seems odd, especially in a place where extolment of history is everywhere.  

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church dates back to 1701 when the parish was formed.  This brick structure was erected in 1736.  Back then the church rented pews to raise revenue, a common practice in colonial times.  Slaves sat upstairs, and benches along the sides accommodated visitors.  That great disparity between black and white is mostly gone in Edenton, a town about equally divided race-wise  

I might get this book after the trip is over, and read about life, as my life might have been in the slave-time south. 

It‘s hard to deny the loveliness of Edenton along the waterfront where houses are historically elegant,  And it’s hard to go north on Broad Street, see  the trailer parks, and not think that the old South is a bit like it was in colonial times.

Cupola House built 1758

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