Gay Head Light

Gay Head Light

In Memoriam: Todd Follansbee

Nothing gay this gray morning.
The salt-sprayed trees

and bushes bend over
like scared students,
tested by a towering teacher —

all brick, iron and glaring
glass — missing nothing.

The Pull-By

I have learned a new word, a noun, the pull-by.

Bass Fishing At Squibnocket

I stand as the black water

Of each wave’s backwash

Hugs my hip boots

Making little stars of light

The fish-filled night.

Early on I was hoping for a strike

Of some huge striped bass to fight,

But now, to hell with fishing,

I would rather stand here casting.


The ground is thawing. And now the sun has reached an angle of amber upon the bees.

Town Memories

Will I grow old and hang around the shop Will young guys come to pick my brain and use my tools

Flight Home from LAX

LAX creates somniacs or worse. Promised wifi is a lie. We lay to wait connection, a continuation home.

A Tribute to Pathways

Winter solstice was hardly a comfort, for those of us who suffer from SAD while enduring our endless days fading daylight.

Gifts for All, Good Tidings for Island

In the annual Gazette Christmas poem Santa finds something in his sack for almost everyone. Reindeer sightings reported in Menemsha.

So Much Kindness

I appreciate the prayers and kindness shown to me and my family during my daughter’s illness. So happy to be back on-Island. So grateful. The following by Naomi Shihab Nye, from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems, captures perfectly my sentiment at this time.

Memories of Pop Still Line the Dashboard

The following poem is by Warren Woessner, a birding enthusiast and bard who wanders the shorelines of the Island.