Lament for the Skull II

LAMENT FOR THE SKULL II

The Force of buoyancy equals Pi times the radius squared times the Length times
62.4 minus the Weight of the pontoon.--Formula for the buoyant force of a pontoon.

I still remember standing watching calming
Bow waves disperse from both pontoons, the white
Motionless Heron near the shore, the floating
Lake Lilies, playful fish, and bright sunlight.
I still remember sky blue sails, the strong
Deck painted like a Texas Flag, the real,
Old Pirate Flag atop the mast, along
With nylon ropes and bolts of stainless steel.
You were a monument to my innate
Creativity, a reminder of
The link to G-d from His creation. Fate
Dismembered your lithe form but not my love.
I can still feel the gentle, fragrant breeze
That filled your sails. Thanks for the memories.

The Voyage of the Critic Thomas Newton

THE VOYAGE OF THE CRITIC THOMAS NEWTON

“I have heard writers refer to [William Logan} as ‘the most hated
man in Americanpoetry,’ a title one could be proud of in this time
of fawning and favor-trading’.”--Robert McDowell, Hudson Review

Can there be a more exacting critic than William Logan?

My literary Ark upon the tide
Of mediocrity is carried high
Above the ordinary by the pride
Of Western culture, stored here safe and dry:
The Bible, Shakespeare, Milton, Tennyson,
Wordsworth and Coleridge, Longfellow, Rand.
I wonder far, a lonely denizen,
Searching the seven seas for fertile land.
I feed my rations to the Albatross,
My friend, my guiding star, my only hope
Of drifting through this dreadful sea of dross.
I’m looking through my faithful telescope.
“Two Sonnets,” tower toward the brilliant sky,
I see are answering the question, Why?

Dedicated to Helen Ehrlich

Waimea Waves

WAIMEA WAVES

If you want to ride the ultimate wave, you have to
be willing to pay the ultimate price. -- Mark Foo

I'm sitting at the lineup on my Gun.
These are just like the waves at Malibu,
Only much bigger! I am stoked! "Have fun,"
She said, "your surfer girl is watching you."
The rescue helicopter flies around
Above the lifeguards on jet skis watching, watching.
The ancient Sky and Sun, the ancient Ground,
The surf is roaring. Wind is whispering, whispering.
The set is almost here. I thought I heard
Whispering, whispering, "You don't have what it takes."
I let the first two waves go by. The third?
I plunged both legs straight down--applied the brakes.
Hey Dude with the big-wave surfboard by Bear,
How's Waimea? You'd have to be there!

Hurricane Charlie

HURRICANE CHARLIE

"This is Seminole County ARES/RACES* net control. Your
tactical control sign is ‘Winter Springs High School.‘"

Evacuees from Tampa Bay are clogging
The highway leading to Orlando, far
Away from Hurricane Charlie’s flogging.
They reach the school by van or truck or car.
The medical and law enforcement and
The Red Cross workers man the sturdy school.
The ARES/RACES operators stand
Ready--a great communications tool.
The storm was moving north, but turned away--
Directly for Orlando! It was too
Late to retreat to Tampa Bay, so they
Were caught where hundred-mile-an-hour winds blew.
Who could have forecasted a course so odd,
Or who can ever know the mind of God?

* Amateur Radio Emergency Service/Radio Amateur Civil Emergency Service

Bird Island

BIRD ISLAND

The town of Windermere, among the lakes, is surrounded by sand bottom lakes
[and country clubs]. Lake Butler (the largest) is on the west, and Lake Down is
on the east. --Windermere, FL Website

I’m sailing West. The small canal to Lake
Butler is off the starboard bow. The bright
Sun rules the cloudless sky. The blue sails shake--
Impatient for the long awaited sight!
Each Independence Day they come to Bird
Island to party and display their riches.
The beach is over crowded with a herd
Of yachts. The captains have all found their niches.
I am the only Pirate with the only
Sailboat approaching slowly. Children are
Asking, "Is that a Pirate, Dad?" The lowly
Sailor is greeted like a superstar.
They cherish excellent ability
And are impressed by creativity.

Severe Thunderstorm Warning

SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING

A severe thunderstorm warning means that a thunderstorm
that produces winds of at least 50 knots, dangerous lightening,
and/or hail at least ¾" in diameter has been reported.

I’m sailing West. The evil thunderstorm
Approaches from the West--a wall of rain
And wind and lightning. Maybe they’ll inform
The Lake Patrol? Then how could I explain?
A crowd is gathering around the dock
At Scenic Boat Tours. They’re afraid that I
Won’t make it back before the lightning strikes
My mast. I search the awful, threatening sky.
My progress slows as the wind begins to blow.
The blue sails start to luff. I start to shake.
Will I be killed today or…. I don’t know.
This can not be my very last mistake!
Will he arrive and leap to land at last
Or will the lightening strike his tall steel mast?

In Search of the Conus gloriamaris Chemnitz

In Search of the Conus gloriamaris Chemnitz

While I sit on the level diver's deck
Viewing the shallow coral reef below,
The Sulu Sea sends waves to lap my feet
And rock my chrome and fiberglass sea craft.
I check the gear required to make the dive.
The contoured backpack with its yellow tank
And matching regulator provides the air.
The blue face mask and fins adapt my eyes
And powerful leg muscles to the sea.
The black weight belt destroys the buoyant force.
I strap the black knife case to my right leg,
The heavy pressure gauge to my right arm,
And the orange life vest around my chest.
Impatiently I don the other gear.
I test the air flow form the tank and set
The bezel on my rugged diver's watch.
I check the vital air reserve device.
Now I am ready to begin the search
After what seems like half a billion years.

Splash! The primitive sea world appears
Amid a swirl of white ascending foam.
With speargun and net sack in hand I sink.
The water near my face mask is alive
With delicate, clear protoplasmic bits.
I swallow twice to kill the growing pain
In my eardrums and blow into my mask.
The coral reef comes meekly up to me
With its kaleidoscope of tiny fish
Darting among the rigid coral forms
And undulating sea anemones.
I search every hole, pit, split, crevice, crack,
Cavity, opening, depression, cleft,
And rift to find the Glory-Of-The-Seas.
My quest leads slowly down the pregnant reef
Into a darkening gray limbo, where
The larger creatures feed and breed at will.
A ray invades my field of vision near
A solitary coral boulder stuck
Between the safe reef and the dreadful deep
And flutters bleakly to the sandy tract.

Zap! The nerves below my knee react.
I kick and twist around to see the crushed
Coral and the liquid oozing from the scrape.
I check the pressure gauge--one hundred feet,
Elapsed time--forty-seven minutes plus.
I pull the steel pin on the powerhead
In perparation for a shark attack,
Turn, and swim steadily back up the reef
Toward the shallow water and my boat.
I stop to scan the rear--nothing there.
The gauge says thirty feet. I suck more air
Out of the fading tank. My salty blood
Still seeps into the salty sea as I
Ascend to find the boat. It calmly rests
Several hundred tiring yards away.
I jerk the air reserve release rod down.
I swim and swim and scan and swim and swim.
The air gives out. I clear my snorkel, then
Drop my weight belt, and scan and swim and swim.
At last the pure white boat is within reach.
Quickly my hand inserts the safety pin
And flips the sack, speargun, swim fins, face mask,
And snorkel to the nonskid forward deck.
I slosh aboard and shed the other gear,
And then regain the platform at the bow.
I settle down to rest in the warm sun.
The wet and bloody scrape coagulates
And strangles the sad reunion as I think.
The time allotted for this quest is gone,
And thoughts of other ventures come--ahh but
While I sit on the level diver's deck
Viewing the shallow coral reef below,
The Sulu Sea sends waves to lap my feet
And rock my chrome and fiberglass sea craft.