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Archive for the ‘Poems by Charles Pierre’ Category

Ocean Grove beach. By Paul Goldfinger ©

Ocean Grove beach. By Paul Goldfinger ©  Click to enlarge.

 

Hi Paul:

Greetings again from Manhattan. In late summer, I like to visit Ocean Grove and watch the surf casters, with their long rods and spinning reels, working on the shore, usually alone, hurling their lures far into the dark Atlantic, and then waiting patiently for the bluefish, striped bass, or other gift the ocean might offer up. Here is a poem, “The Surf Caster,” from my collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

Charles Pierre. 2009. Photo by Marcella Kerr

Charles Pierre. 2009. Photo by Marcella Kerr

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Surf Caster

 

The fine line that keeps him connected to the depths

runs long into the night, a translucent filament

of strength through the dark and turbulent surf.

How quietly it flows from shore to ocean floor,

from his practiced wrist along the flexing rod,

as each tug of the tide, each questioning nibble

and answering jig, pulses through the eye loops

down to the spooling reel. He probes the ocean

with a lure of his own devising, charm and hook

tooled not for local fish but the far-swimming schools.

A slight vibration and his line now sparkles

with wetness in the glow of phosphor water,

humming in the summer wind, radiating a soft mist,

a sign of something below, something other than

the common catch, something only he would know.

 

 

BILL FRISELL   “Across the Universe.”    From the album  “All We Are Saying” (2011)

 

 

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Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. One can hear great music in Ocean Grove’s Auditorium and Pavilion throughout the summer. But there’s another kind of music that is best heard on the beach at night. Here is the poem “Ocean Musicale” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,
Charles Pierre

June 2015. Ocean Grove beach. Paul Goldfinger photo. © Blogfinger.net.

Ocean Grove beach. 2015.  Paul Goldfinger photo. © Blogfinger.net.  Click to make the dark bigger.

Ocean Musicale

By Charles Pierre

In the humid haze of an August night,
the planes of shore, sea and sky dissolve
to undivided black. In this dark hall

of the Atlantic, released from light
and shadow, one moves by ear alone
to the sounds of sand, wave and wind,

listening beyond any human scale
to each natural noise as it occurs,
until the impersonal din becomes

a concert of the barest elements.

PAUL SIMON   Live in NYC (Concert in the park.  1991)

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Bob Bowné.  Winter Ocean Grove. 2015. ©

 

SCULPTURE

 

By Charles Pierre

 

In winter, my tongue

and teeth chinker

through cracked lips,

 

each poem a carving

of white breath

without marble’s heft—-

 

the chiseled lines

dying to silence,

shrouded in mist.

 

 

HOLLY CONLAN   “Winter”

 

 

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sunset florida

Bunche Beach. Fort Myers, Florida. Paul Goldfinger ©.

 

Sunset

By Charles Pierre

 

The offshore sky

is undone

as light slips away:

 

When the blues die

in flame,

and the last display

 

of red ends its slide

seaward,

drowning the day.

 

CACHAO.  “Si Me Pudieras Querer”

 

 

 

 

 

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2

Once alive. Paul Goldfinger ©. Ocean Grove.

 

 

Career

 

By Charles Pierre

 

The smashed bodies of clams,

crabs and whelks onshore

show what the world’s about.

Yet from the shadow

of a broken shell,

a small beetle walks freely

into the sun,

its path etched

on the sand’s crust.

 

 

BUCKY PIZZARELLI :

 

 

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Spring Lake

“Here’s That Rainy Day.” Spring Lake, NJ. By Paul Goldfinger ©. Undated.

Spring Pool

By Charles Pierre

In the hollow of my hand, a pool is born
of an April downpour, the sudden flood
filling every crevice of pinkish skin,
the lines of life and heart and mind engulfed,

a breeze etching the surface with ripples
that push against shores of padded flesh
around the palm, some overflowing the bank,
others sliding back toward the deep center,

the wrinkles on the bottom of the pool
brightening, as the rain that fell so fast
passes, and sunlight pierces the water
settling at the end of my outstretched arm.

BOB DYLAN:

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Ocean Grove. Sept. 2010. Paul Goldfinger photo ©

 

 

Absence

A poem by Charles Pierre

Of what was written down
or spoken aloud onshore,
eye and ear find scant remains

A few letters in the sand
or murmurs on the salt wind
show, not who was here,

but how the sea
swallows up
most human traces.



LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA "Enigma Variations."

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Late November garden in Ocean Grove. Paul Goldfinger photograph. ©

 

 

Reprieve

By Charles Pierre

From a rusted nail
on the south wall

of an old boathouse
weathered to gray,

a small pail of
red impatiens

swings in the mild
November sun,

where the rush
of stark sea wind

has yet to dim
the arc of lush color.

 

 

EVA CASSIDY
From her album Songbird.

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IMG_5349

Ocean Grove, New Jersey September, 2018 by Paul Goldfinger ©

 

Scoop of the Flux

By Charles Pierre

A breaker tumbles
into the shallows,

with onshore thrust
and muscling splash

that toss skyward
a long yellow kelp,

glazed with water
and stretched to

a string of lights,
sparkling in midair,

at the sea’s peak
an instant, until

falling with a flicker
into blurred spillage

of surf, vanishing
as soon as seen

in dark backwash
of the undertow.

 

 

THE RIGHTEOUS BROTHERS  “Ebb Tide”

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sg-2

Stephen Goldfinger. Central Park, 2014. Blogfinger.net ©

 

 

Green Vistas

By Charles Pierre

I walk the hard and darkened streets
of Manhattan as winter thaws,
where steel and concrete choke the earth,
where nature can’t unfold or flow.

Gaudy neon and bits of glass
sparkling in asphalt swell the night
with portents of spring that lead me
to a park on the river’s edge.

My left hand flies from its pocket
to test the air. The air says, Write,
until trees are flaming with leaves,
until waves are emerald fire.

 

 

ART GARFUNKEL

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