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Archive for the ‘Poems by Charles Pierre’ Category

 

Under the Coney Island boardwalk. c. 1960. By Bruce Davidson ©

Under the Coney Island boardwalk. c. 1959. By Bruce Davidson ©

 

 

BOARDWALK

 

By Charles Pierre.

 

This splintered swath

with its burning masses,

where nothing can grow,

 

hides a cool path

of sand and grasses

directly below,

 

a place of laughs

and eager kisses

only the teens know.

 

From the author’s 2014 collection Coastal Moments, Hayland Press, New York.

 

k.d. lang

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Hi Paul:
     Greetings from Manhattan. When March ends, and the last few patches of snow melt from the yards, and ice disappears from the ponds, those of us who live along the coast shed our heavy coats and head for the shore. Here is the poem “Orient Point,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best Wishes,

Charles Pierre

 

 

Early spring morning. Deal Lake. Ocean Township.  March 29, 2015,   By Paul Goldfinger ©  Click to enlarge.

 

 

Orient Point

By Charles Pierre

To find words again, after winter’s pause
and the stifled months of life ashore —
to hear voices, if none but the shrill sounds
of sailors boundless in April winds.
I slip from silence, English my ship and sea.
Speech as fresh as the first mild gusts of salt air
billows my cheeks, flying from my lips
to take me as far as sound can sail —
Speak, as if spring is all there is!

 

BEN PATERSON TRIO:  “Here, There, and Everywhere”   by Paul McCartney.

 

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Ocean Grove. November 28,  2014. Paul Goldfinger photo. ©

 

 

Toward Winter

 

By Charles Pierre.

 

In late November, after the abundance

of summer and early fall, when withered

vines and leaves deepen the solitude

of the land, one can walk almost unseen,

like the wind coursing through bare trees

or a dust mote crossing a shaft of sunlight.

In this diminished scene, the emptiness

can unburden, almost free, the self,

until one becomes aware of the season

but not the date, on an hourless afternoon,

neither mild nor cold, the slight stiffness

in the joints a certain sign of the short

clipped days and long crystalline nights

to come, as one walks the hardening earth,

with a hunger for less and less of the year,

into the devouring mouth of December.

 

 

 

BEVERLY KENNEY   from Sings For Johnny Smith

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Beachfront Sunrise. By Paul Goldfinger. Ocean Grove. Blogfinger.net ©

 

Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. I was struck by your quietly beautiful photo, “Beachfront Sunrise,” (posted recently on Blogfinger), and your statement that you preferred sunrises to sunsets because “beginnings are happier than endings.”

Here is the poem, “Dawn,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

 

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

 

 

Dawn

By Charles Pierre

 

The first hint of morning on the ocean

is a trembling of shadows,

 

a dark hovering of muted tones

that moves with imperceptible pace,

 

a vanishing medium through which

the day brightens and widens,

 

the new light going on for miles and miles

in the shine of emerging surf.

 

BILL FRISELL. “Across the Universe.”

 

 

 

 

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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)

 

 

images

      

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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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