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Archive for the ‘Poems by Charles Pierre’ Category

A Poem by Charles Pierre: “Toward Winter”

Posted in Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , , on November 24, 2020|

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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Poems @Blogfinger: “The Surf Caster” by Charles Pierre.

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on May 18, 2020| 1 Comment »

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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“Ocean Musicale”. Poem by Charles Pierre.

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, tagged , on February 19, 2020| 1 Comment »

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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Poem by Charles Pierre: “Sunset”

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Photography from Florida, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on October 9, 2019|

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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A poem by Charles Pierre: “Spring Pool”

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Charles Pierre poetry on Blogfinger, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on May 4, 2019| 2 Comments »

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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A poem by Charles Pierre: Scoop of the Flux

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Photography Jersey Shore, Photography: Ocean Grove Gallery, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged on September 6, 2018|

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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A poem by Charles Pierre: Green Vistas

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Photograph by Stephen Goldfinger, Photography nocturnal NYC, Photography: New York City Street Series, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on March 24, 2018| 2 Comments »

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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A poem by Charles Pierre: “Late Autumn at Centerport”

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Guest artist on Blogfinger, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged on December 10, 2017| 2 Comments »

Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. To observe the leaves changing on the trees from April to December, is to see, in a vivid way, the pattern of life that governs us all. Here is the poem “Late Autumn at Centerport,” from my 2009 collection, Green Vistas.

Best wishes,
Charles Pierre

Rhinebeck, New York. Mid-October, 2017. Paul Goldfinger ©

 

Late Autumn at Centerport

By Charles Pierre

Spring unfurled from ripening buds,
and a balmy summer preserved
the deep greens of oak and maple
on hillsides across the harbor

A month ago, the reds and golds
were bright distractions, but today,
descending a hill to this beach
through the bitter December air,

I feel the withering absence
of colors that once filled the trees.
Fallen leaves are now visible,
black and rotting in the shallows.

Here, the full cycle of seasons
has yet to pass, but today,
having seen this much of the year,
I know my end ahead of time.

 

CHET BAKER:

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A Room in New York: A poem by Charles Pierre.

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on March 25, 2016|

A favorite room----at the Gasparilla Inn, Boca Grande, Fla. Paul Goldfinger photo. ©

A favorite room—-at the Gasparilla Inn, Boca Grande, Fla. Paul Goldfinger photo. ©

Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. It is surprising how far you can travel, just by sitting quietly at home in a favorite room, surrounded by familiar objects. Here is the poem, “A Room in New York,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,
Charles Pierre

A Room in New York

As I sit at my desk, the morning sun begins
to fill this room with slow-moving planes
and angles of light. They glitter my windows
with Atlantic waters and whiten the shades
with New England snow, brightening
my blue sofa to a field of wild asters
in Nova Scotia, and my varnished table
to a forest of yellow pines in the Carolinas.
Rays skim the spines of a thousand books,
where peaks of an Alpine mountain range
shimmer on my shelves. When beams reach
my oriental rugs, the colors of Central Asia
shine up at me. As I write, city and wilderness
move in unison with the sun’s slow passage
through this room: each flame-suffused image,
each act of attention to the way light works,
leading outward to a world beyond walls.

 

Max Raabe and Das Palast Orchestra

Live at Carnegie Hall 2007

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A poem by Charles Pierre: “Statue in the Park”

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , , on May 20, 2015|

Greetings from Manhattan. In almost every town and city of the country, one can see a Civil War monument, usually with a lone soldier in uniform at the top, his rifle by his side. Now, one hundred and fifty years after the end of that war, many of these statues show signs of deterioration from long exposure to the elements. Here, for Memorial Day, is the poem “Statue in the Park,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

Gen. G. K. Warren, Union Army. STanding on Little Round Top at Gettysburg National Park,

Gen. G. K. Warren, Union Army. Standing on Little Round Top at Gettysburg National Park.  Official Park photo.

Statue in the Park

The stone hero is becoming mortal again.

Ordinary weather has undone the work

of Civil War. Sun and cold, rain and snow

strike his head, as brothers once struck

each other, in a climate beyond season.

Below the folds of his coat, two lovers

walk in a trance, far from history’s maw,

their cadence owing nothing to the slog

of soldiers or the slash of glinting swords

on a ravaged farmstead in Virginia.

 

Earth is recalling her boy from service.

Granules flake from the featureless face,

blending with dirt around the pedestal,

a wind from the river scattering him

throughout the park, sending him back

to his people on a Sunday afternoon,

his final sacrifice now part of the leisure

they have worked all week to secure,

his dust dispersed, in silent ceremony,

around the gentle steps of the lovers.

 

THE BUDAPEST STRINGS  “Lullaby”

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A Poem by Charles Pierre.

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged , on March 26, 2015|

Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. At this in-between time of year, when winter slowly becomes spring, nature reveals itself in the starkest of terms. Here is the poem “Hickories,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

Hickory in winter. Flickr.com.

Hickory in winter. Flickr.com. Photographer unknown.

Hickories

Best to see them bare, in earliest spring,

at the end of March, when the uncertain

drift from winter shows them in bark only,

standing and branching in jets of wind

over the cold soil. At this unadorned time,

with neither snow nor foliage to hide

their rough wiry forms, they move

in routines severe yet clear, as if

ingrained in their fiber is the sense

of making do, making beauty with the least

costume and fewest movements, making do

in rhythmic turns from shade to sun,

from night to dawn, from winter to spring,

in the uncertain drift through minutes

and days and months, in space

as bare as the trees themselves, in silence

as bare as the trees themselves.

 

BLOSSOM DEARIE:

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Poetry by Charles Pierre: “Northern Reverie.”

Posted in Music from the movies, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged on February 20, 2015| 1 Comment »

Hi Paul:

Greetings from chilly Manhattan.  For those of us stuck in the ice and snow of the Northeast, idyllic days in Florida are, at best, the stuff of warm dreams. Here is “Northern Reverie,” a poem from my 2009 collection, Green Vistas.

Best wishes,
Charles Pierre

...dreams of warm tropic waters.... By Paul Goldfinger, 2013.

…dreams of warm tropic waters…. By Paul Goldfinger, 2013.  ©

 

Northern Reverie

 

It is winter here and the emptiness

of seascape extends in all directions.

This is the season of solitary walks

across miles of ice-crusted shoreline,

when the sun burns with a muted fire

and time slows against a gunmetal sky,

when the gulls alone are full of vigor

and scavenge in long drifts of debris

spread by the frigid tides. It is now

 

that my weariness with cold weather

leads to dreams of Caribbean beaches

dotted with palms, shells and bright

umbrellas, where warm tropic waters

relax my knotted body, as I swim

with over-arm stroke and even kick

to strengthen my limbs for the trek

to spring, which lingers so far away

from the snow along this frozen coast. 

 

CAMILLE    “Le Festin” from the movie  Ratatouille

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A Poem by Charles Pierre: “Library”

Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged on October 18, 2014| 1 Comment »

Hi Paul:

 

Greetings again from Manhattan. The surface of the ocean, as it changes from hour to hour through the day and night, through different seasons and all kinds of weather, can suggest an endless variety of images. Here is my poem, “Library,” from a new collection-in-progress, Circle of Time.

 

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

October 16, 2014

 

By Paul Goldfinger. ©

Ocean Grove sunset.    By Paul Goldfinger. ©

 

 

LIBRARY

 

Waves of the outgoing tide glint with late afternoon light

as they roll across the ocean surface, opening like books

 

with rounded spines and soft covers spread wide to show

a white froth of pages, fanned front to back by the wind,

 

glittering drops and jets of rainbow spray flying

from the rows of thick volumes to fill an empty sky,

 

until the westward slanting sun turns their bright contents

to the pale gold of aging paper, then to dark blue at dusk,

 

when the spines, covers and pages of the dimmed books

slip to shapeless water and merge with currents of night.

 

 

STUART MATTHEWMAN  “Amapola”

 

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