Summer Baptism: Draft 2

I think I understand now why poetry wouldn't come in Costa Rica. Something in the way I experience joy... without words. With the full body, the full brain, fully sensory, but non-verbal. Here, this poem, is a first attempt to "document" such a moment -- still poetic fiction, but from a place of joy. 

And then we were there.
Perched on the cusp between air and
gravity,
curve of the handlebar pressing thighs as I
played girl and you,
boy.
Through laughing shrieks of darkness
I sank into your chest
to nest in your stern; children
returned to the world.

And we spin cradled in an inverted hull
Low hanging ribs clipping 
our skin; headlamp tickling the ground
where wheels crackle music to our whispered
trespass
tracing the chancel
of somebody else's club.
Distant lights of unmanned sentry
mark us,
tree veiled til we reach
the nave.

And there before, sliced imperfectly,
the just-waning moon;
the font. Following along in reflected play
carving reveals of light in
porphyry and time -
momentary footholds in the rockscape.
Then naked we entered the nave.
Rough necklaces of an invisible garden played with our legs.
And there,
submerged, you lifted gently from around my neck
the umbilical anchor that
tied me to the Beast.

And love gasped at last.

Redeemed in the Sea.
Between sips of unholy water
our lips met and in shared breath
we conspired to youth,
smashed the bottle
and named this Fate.

The season turned us in her warm rocky hold

And we rode back to the sanctuary
where to the back beat of ensemble birdsong
you disappeared into sleep with a reminder:
My soul is weary, I do not believe in love
and held me in your long sea tentacles.

Sleep weary soul, I say
I will hold you in my faith,
voluminous
Chora of your rebirth

Summer baptism: Draft 1

And then we were there.
Perched on the cusp between air and
gravity.
Curve of the handlebar pressing thighs as I
played girl and you,
boy.
Through shrieks of darkness
I sank into your chest
to nest in your stern; children
returned to the world.

And we spin cradled in an inverted hull
Low hanging ribs clipping 
our skin; headlamp tickling the ground
where wheels crackle music to our whispered
trespass through the chancel
of someone else's club.
Distant lights of unmanned sentry
tree veiled until we enter
the nave.

Before us, sliced imperfection
the just-waning moon:
the font. Following along in reflected play
carving reveals of light, carved
in porphyry and time -
footholds in the rockscape -
Til naked we entered the nave.

Rough necklaces of an invisible garden played on our legs.
And there,
submerged, you lifted gently from around my neck
the umbilical anchor that
tied me to the Beast.

And love gasped at last.

Redeemed  in the Sea.
Between sips of unholy water
our lips met and in shared breath
we conspired to youth,
smashed the bottle
and named this Fate.

The season turned us in her rocky hold

And we rode back to the sanctuary
where to the back beat of unsyncopated birdsong
you disappeared into sleep with a reminder
My soul is weary, I do not believe in love
and you held me in your long sea tentacles.

Sleep weary soul, I say
I will hold you in my belief,
voluminous
Chora of your slumber

Dear Pablo, sonnet from object-subject: draft 1

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII

Pablo Neruda

Translated Mark Eisner.  http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179257/

And I love him Pablo as one loves the colorless, failure and doubt;

The gaping impossibility of oceans that cleave

Abandoned motherland and American son; my love

A child's grasp and claw at an unwanted sibling's entry.

And yet I love him as a lion's roar lacerates

The sky in fleshly signals of lust and feast.

Laughing at futility, denying denials

Stealing the gift with peals of joyous hope.

Sand at low tide neither sea nor land

Just there, waiting for water's return.

I love him unheard, as an obscure thing,

Unseen between shadow and soul.

So distant my pulse drowns in passage

So distant our touch is misplaced.

Costa Rica 9: Beach dwelling

Playa Guiones. May 27 - 29, 2012.

Exposure questionable on these early photos. This was before I knew my camera well. 

Penelope's Loon - 3rd draft

Mist whispered across her back

circling shoulders and into her arms

The scent of lavender beat her tongue

feather-puncture approaching love's nerves

He left her at the port parking lot

motor still running

kissed the breeze with gaze distracted

signaling 

We'll be in touch soon.

She guessed this meant nothing

to do with touch.

Refusing to watch as he walked away,

she turned to the gulls positioned on stanchons

flipping him the bird

cawing after him in sarcastic shrieks

leave you bastard leave me

Only the scent of sails.

But Dunkin still on the corner,

kids with clipboards turning phrases for donations

Everything intact, minding it's place.

A plastic bag caught wind, gusting toward the ocean

with tight voiceless blows

Yup I'm fine. Fine. Yup I'm fine.

Alone on the clean cotton sheet

Touching her own shoulder lightly

She mimics his sanctity, mourns his mist

Weaves another memory to anchor.

So the storm grows face-first

still air sardonic on naked back.

Old, dank, her sailor's ocean shroud drapes her

And tonight, again, she drowns in his death.

Cost Rica 8: Afternoon rain

Sky water - taking a break from the sea...

June 3, 2012, Harmony Hotel, Nosara.

Costa Rica 7: En route to La Luna

The walk from Guiones to Pelada, June 1, 2012
Click on the photos to see them enlarged - they look better that way.
all images copyright CJH 2012