Sea Legs

Disclaimer: I have no right to write this poem. I hurt my right leg while doing something stupid; like pretending to be 30 instead of 70...However, pain, in any and many forms, can be an inspiration. So I wrote this to my old captain to honor him and to try to feel the pain that he has conquered.

It was just the one leg

but the label burned inside

in the 1940’s

There was no place to hide

Polio took many

Some endured, not thrive

But young Jim

would succeed, not merely survive

Many boats he would sail

on Barnegat Bay

No help needed

Sailing, his way

At first a walker

and later a cane.

Both were worthless

on a deck’s angled plane.

On a boat he found

That he could make a stand

With one good leg

and two strong hands.

Tom Crowley

former mate on the Adventure 1971-72

The Carpenters Trunk

He was tired of so many tools

to work his craft around town

He had to make a trunk

Much easier to carry around.

The first one was too small

The next one too big by far

His final version sits here now

It will barely fit into the car.

For years it served him well

Expanding as his practice grew

leather pouches for razor sharp chisels

Wood slots for his saws; just two.

The tools were gone forever,

The winter mice didn’t mind

They built their nests, quite happy

To share this historical find.

I could sell it now on ebay as

A victim of re-purposing’s curse

Or I could keep it here in the attic

To inspire new prose and verse.

William Kidder’s family may wonder

What became of Uncle Bill’s trunk

Perhaps they will find it now

when it sits next to more local “junk”

At The Lincolnville Historical Society

Visitors can delve into the past

A Kidder may see this piece here

And be pleased that it was able to last.

Toys of Summer

Summer kids bring tons of toys

They fill the bathtub and

bring secret joys

They drive you crazy

trying to pick them up

under foot and broken cup

But when they leave

and you clean up the mess

you understand why you

miss them most

Once the toys are put

in their winter place

time stands still

and seems to erase

The joy of toys

and the memories

of the children

that brought them.

The deck is clear

The laundry is done

The toys put away

The children are gone.

As soon as they leave

In the quiet time

You miss them the most

and know life is sublime.

Who cares about madness?

when the grandkids arrive.

You love it because

You are glad to be alive.

A simple hug from a child

restores body and mind

Despite the sore muscles

and the bruises in kind.

Now you wait for the call

or the facetime show

As they reach through the phone

so that you will both know

That love transcends time

But you must settle your mind

So the toys will come back

With the kids right behind.

FTC

Grandson Leo Gave us a Magic Bean~?

Who needs Twitter?

Thanksgiving 2017

New grandchild, sex unknown
Coming into a loving home
Three boys waiting,
New house from 1780
Blessings exceed dreams now
Grandda in waiting

FTC
11/10/17

Salt Seller

The Salt Seller

There was a man who had salt for sale

He dug it out of a salt pond beach

His customers were poor and sad

and his price far out of their reach.

So he gave it away until all was gone

and went back to the beach for more

But it started to rain and he lost all his salt

and so did his customers poor.

If he had a hut or at least a shelter

He could save the salt for all

The neighbors saw his vision too

So they started with just a wall.

His friends and customers all stepped up

and each brought a stick, a brick or a stone

The pantry was built and the salt was saved

With God’s help, one is never alone.

ftc

written to bring attention to needs of the hungry

The Bag Lady of Maine

The Bag Lady of Route One.

The road was widened

but she never knew

her life would end

when the job was through.

She had walked Route One

along the shore

Everyone knew her

but now they learned more.

She was just the Bag Lady

with her backpack of red

Faster traffic

But now she was dead.

The truck blew by

and honked as it passed her

She was knocked over the rail

Traffic now went much faster

She was not missed

for three more days

Her routine was erratic

Each day a new phase

We expected to see her

on Sunday mornings in Fall

At 7:21

She would walk past Whitehall.

The plan was to expand

Route One to be...wider

Cutting the ancient tree down

and most things beside her.

But the tree was her safe place

as the traffic flew by

When it was cut down

She had no place to hide.

The funeral was small

the service was brief

Just a few of the locals

Stopped by to share grief

They barely knew her

But the minister did

and he shared her sad story

and told of her kid

She had a full and rich life

along the midcoast

With a husband and son

who loved her the most.

They walked Route One together

from the beach to the town.

Laughing and joking

Until the car cut them down

She lived but they died

Now she will not ride in a car

She walks by herself

Miles do not seem that far

When your lonely and alone

There is not much to say

So she kept to herself

and she died the same way.

Why widen a road

that is scenic and rare?

It will not be safer

with shoulders so bare.

Lets re-think this plan

and let everyone know

that wider is not better

and its better to go slow.

FTC

10/21/17

Lincolnville Beach