The Pilgrims survived!

For this they praised the Lord

And thanked their Indian friends

Who taught them how to live

In this different land.

Like them we pause,

From daily toil and furrowed brow relieved,

To feast and laugh and play and rest,

And tell ourselves how much we’re blessed

In this hopeful land.

Could they have known,

Long years ago, where Moses’ trek would lead:

Stiletto heels and MTV,

If You Go to Sea

If you go to sea you really must know

What to do when the wind she blows.

If weather bodes toward a nasty gale

You must, beforehand, shorten sail.

As the gale comes on and it gets quite rough

Head up to weather but don’t let sails to luff.

It’s a good idea to use a drogue

To keep the vessel under good control.

If when quite rough and stomach is sour

Farewell Sunday on Martha’s Vineyard

Martha’s Vineyard rested quietly in the golden haze of her warmth,

Her sandy thighs cooling in the wide blue-white wash of the sea.

The passions of the night had wearied her,

But her rest was peaceful and she glowed,

Like burnished gold in the late morning, easy warming,

Sun of this so fine a Sunday.

A grey dorsal cut the crest of a Katama bound roller,

Tom

They broke the mold

When he came out

One look was all

You need

A singular

Relentless soul

In every word

And deed

He fished by trade

But gifts he brought

Whenever he’s ashore

Pianos tickled

With his ways

Oysters for evermore

Bless the soul of

Tommy O

Bless his heart indeed

He rambled

And he lusted

Yo

Winner’s Circle

I’m trying to rhyme the word “Vineyard;”

Thank goodness it isn’t a sin word.

Unlike that Nantucket

Where oaths fill a bucket,

We keep our frustrations all inward.

— Eileen Maley

•

A man with no key to Quansoo

His paltry investments did rue

With portfolio tanked

That bright shining bank

Could only be reached by canoe.

— Beth Parker

•

Chappy Shadow Walk

I took a stroll this morning, before the sun would shine,

down Cape Pogue Ave to Chappy Road, and met a good friend of mine.

Across Dike Bridge and to the beach, we stopped a while to rest,

and each time I turned to look for him, he was always to the west.

We walked along in silence, but I had a lot to say,

past Poucha Pond along the shore until we reached Katama Bay.

Sea Breeze

Alas! the flesh is sad; the books I’ve read already —

O to run away! To flee! I feel with birds their giddy

Flights between unknowns: sea-foams and skies!

And nothing, not old gardens mirrored in bright eyes,

Can now hold back this heart — o sea-drenched nights!

Nor, on this empty paper, lamp-light’s

Desert clarity, whose whiteness keeps it undefiled;

The Quahaug Seeker By Adam Moore

Sengekontacket rippling gray

Waters had beckoned me to lay

My rusty basket rake upon

The sandy bottom of the pond.

I grasped, as did I deeper wade,

A rope with braided fibers frayed,

And with it tethered bushel wire,

Afloat in rubber tube from tire.

To quahaugs rake, to harvest reap,

Behind his eyes the part of him

That always knew the joke

Till at the end the only thing he needed

Was a smile.

— Gerry Storrow, from Requiem

Dan Aronie died early last Friday morning at his home in Vineyard Haven. He was 38. Dan had suffered for much of his life with both diabetes and multiple sclerosis.

Northeast wind blowin’ whoo whoo

Rain and sleet with wet mixed in snow

The ducks were flyin’ fast and low.

Bam, bam, I heard him down in Quenames Cove

Had to be D.P., wouldn’t you know.

Not long after in the murky dusk

A camouflaged figure with several ducks

Cold and wet right to the skin

But when he got near I could see his grin.

Said hey there you, how did you do?