Pain is My Muse

Pain is my muse.  when I am in pain, I write.
not now...I am in too much pain
from two broken wrists.

Every Town...An Island

What if every town was an island?
All shopping done right here
No money being spent away
No corporate takeover fear.

We would have to eat at Donna’s
“Coffee, eggs and ham” for you?
No Starbuck latte’s sold in town
We’re fine with Donna’s brew.

You need a car? See Frank in town
At “Smiley’s Lot” on Main
I traded in my Jeep (still there)
It only leaks in rain.

The banks would have to go along
And lend us what we need.
We’d pay them back with wages
Earned at “Barney’s Grain & Feed”.

Barney’s wife works in the store
Where we shop for chicken thighs
From “Tilly’s Free Range Chicken Farm”
Not quite Tyson’s size.

The money stays on the island friends
There is no place else to spend it.
Besides it all comes back again
To those who spend and lend it.

We’d have to find the leaks for sure
Like buying stuff “on line”
Instead of at the local shops
Like “Mabel’s Five and Dime”.

I guess it will never happen
But we could make a start
By buying local first instead
And shopping with your heart.

Last Dawn

Last Dawn

We miss the sun

It won't be back

The beach is empty

White with frost, seaweed black.

The clock of time

We missed our chance

to save our planet

no next time.

The sun never came up

so it couldn't go down.

We walked to town

everyone's gone.

Two foxes appeared

at our back door again

hungry, exhausted,

We took them in.

We shared the last

of the bread we baked

and the water we hauled

from a frozen lake.

The wind picked up

The power went out

Four of us huddled

under a blanket...peace-out.

Spring Medicine

Spring Medicine

In the spring

I take my medicine

in coffee spoons.

small doses of

new-made maple syrup

overflowing the spoon

into hot coffee.

Healing the

wounds of winter

as the earth warms

and the sun rises

over the islands

sooner every day.

Maine.

How To Catch a Striper

 Take two small children to Lincolnville Beach at low tide...all day. If you have a choice, pick one 6 year old with a great imagination and a fearless 4 year old. Form a small Clam Patrol and look for a hole in the sand, all three of you must dig quickly in the sand until you find one razor clam. Take it home and put It in the refrigerator. Have lunch, then take a nap.

Try to time your nap to wake up 1.5 hours before high tide. Take the two children and two fishing rods, one bucket, one razor clam, two hooks and two grandparents, if they are still awake. Get in a small boat and drift from the dinghy dock towards Ducktrap (proper mild wind from Camden helps). Bait each hook with a small piece of the razor clam. You will have to break open the clamshell and then cut the clam up into pieces. Try to determine the political, sociological, and environmental sensitivities of the children BEFORE you kill the clam. Especially if they see you doing it.

Bait the hooks and try NOT to let the 4 year old cast! Let the lines out to drift behind the boat and ignore them while you hold on to the children, who, hopefully, are still holding on to the rods. Talk about other things but do not, under any circumstances, give any additional instructions to the children. That is what God is for. Well, one of the things he is good for. Do not touch the rods or try to help. That, too, is what God is for. Remember, He is watching and knows what you are doing and thinking.

Once in a while, glance at each rod to see if they are bending. If they are bending and the child is screaming with a mixture of joy and total fear, NOW you can help them reel in the striper.

That’s it. Oh, by the way, do not think you can go out by yourself, duplicate the parts in the boat and expect to catch anything. God is still watching and will have one question for you:

“WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?”

Humbly return to shore, find the children and buy them some ice cream at Mr. Ricky’s (also known as Mclaughlin’s Lobster Shack). You will be forgiven but never try fishing without children again.

LB – August 29, 2017

(this just happened, yesterday)

Tom Crowley

PS -These were my own grandchildren)