Often lost in books, words, stories,
A long ago childhood, a distant time,
A place with a mixture of misty relatives,
A place where I understood the seasons,
Each with its own sunlight and clouds.
A place where I misunderstood others,
Each with their own sensibilities and lives.
A place where I return for tastes of childhood,
Each with its flavor of the sea, Portugal, Acadia.
A place I travel to and see with new eyes,
Familial ghosts and the living of New Bedford.
A place on Cape Cod, where it curls into the Atlantic,
Jostled by Humpback whales with curious eyes,
Melville wondering who and what we have become.
Comments
Benjamin Gorman
March 14, 2013
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Melville came back as a whale
should be the title of a pome! Love it!
I've written sonnets about a feeling of being drawn to the east, which has a place (though perhaps a lesser place) in my own history and family. Evocative. I want more details.
Clayton Medeiros
March 14, 2013
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Readers
I like the title suggestion. I am always intrigued at what readers find. I came out of the East and prefer now to live in the West. I love going back east periodically to dive into New York City, New Bedford and Cape Cod.