Twenty Seven Year Old Dreams–Against The Wind

Going through the door to another time I find myself 27 years old again in summer.

Twenty Seven Year Old Dreams—Against the Wind

The fish were not coming near our boat yesterday. Perhaps the intensity of my dreams was keeping them away. I used an open ended roll of film and could have taken as many pictures as I wished. I did with my minds eye. Such a reality is felt out on the open sea. My dreams were out there, I could feel them pulling me on as I gathered strength for the storm.

I dreamed of hitting the road to island and mountain sanctuaries of spirit. Today I am on the road from Martha’s Vineyard Island to Jackson NH in the White Mountains. Dreams tempered and shaped by uncomfortable reality that I am rapidly moving toward even greater change. A soul searching vacation thinking about loose ends and trying to make amends to old friends. Sorting myself out in feeling thought and in running the roads and realizing that you just can’t have it all. You just don’t need it all. (Credit this line to Bob Seeger)

My traveling companions on the boat from the island were special people, a juggler and a fool. What eyes on the world. Felt good to meet them, share the view together for a short while. Foggy this morning yet we found light spots of life and laughed. Talked of serious things without being serious about it. The fool is a mirror of life reacting to what he sees and feels helping others to laugh at themselves and stop being so dramatic. Fools and jugglers are masters at getting others to lighten up. Take it easy and lighten up on your load. It’s not that bad if you take it slow, do your best and don’t forget to laugh. Move on in the face of change and uncertainty. I move on down the road to gather my backpack and head for the mountains.

What time is it anyway? What you make of it! Jackson NH, afternoon, it is time for getting my head together. My home customized Chevy Van is my room on wheels and feels so fine. The side door open acts as my window. The ride was smooth and timeless, an open day under high open sky. Listening to the music, taking it all in, learning to put it all together.

Knowing only that what has gone before my eyes this vacation has been beautiful. The realm of possibilities is immense and I became lost in the grandeur of an island dream. The road was open so I took it to the mountains to give ocean and island dreams room to expand. I have got to play my hand. Live free or you do begin to die. Shadow Captain and dark star are moving on and shining thru the fog to see beyond immediate reality. Blend of past present and future as the road and life go on. Balance is hard to maintain as situations shift and sway in the wind. I am holding on yet giving enough to maintain the balance. The summer wind today is clean and free flowing. I can see the love that will be.

Mountain day dream given room to expand brings me back to the island fair in West Tisbury. Such a wonderful parade of people and almost everyone makes an appearance. The island women are so natural and strong in their beauty. The island is reflected in them. They are so fine in country dress and bare feet. My dreams soar and time opens and my picture of the world becomes so close to perfect for a short part of the year. The fair is a celebration before the work of the harvest. It is a celebration of warm energy that has been built up thru the summer months. I was surely lost in the warmth. I could not open up to the possibilities the way wished not in the few days of vacation. Getting there gave me a time for reflection, a time open to looking at what has come to pass trying to shed light on what is ahead. It is a time to look at the whole of your existence in hopes of enhancing your reality. The broader the vision the wider the possibilities. Reflect and be glad for the way ahead. Dreams are never left behind. We are always moving toward them. We must do what we can, learn lessons and do some more. The pieces turn up as you go. Shifting and sorting, piecing it all together takes time.

Take it easy, take your time, have patience! The best is ahead but it will only be the best if we work towards making it that way every day. The road goes on, pieces of dreams to be found and mountain daydreams to give them room to expand.

© Ken Pothier

Written yesterday and today

Moonlit Fire In Spring

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Moonlit Fire Spring

Fire and moonlight driven thoughts
Evergreen firs and budding deciduous
The trees are a family, birds their children
Nests held gently, securely
Protected by branch, needle and expanding leaves
A high home with expansive view
Welcome to spring warmth
Arriving light, a fire to meet the waxing moon
Waning glow of a fine early spring day
Blue eyes a picture window to cloudless sky
Walk the dock, a man’s shadow shows in ripples outward
Expanding across the lake touch the moon in reflection
Quiet calm, night peepers sing their song to water mirror
New life growing in glow of warmer days
Birds, bugs, turtles, fish, loon, beaver, musk rat, great blue heron, duck, duck, goose
Return from cold season exile and hibernations
Frame spring and merge in living creation
Changing in daily miracles as each circle comes around in warmth
Robins expecting, chirp and frolic, work the nest building
In chipmunk fall food supply intensity
No eggs yet but driven by hopes and promise of new birth
Spring dressings, building to please
Soon baby bird breaks shell as seedling breaks ground
Man cracks open the door
Leaves kitchen table picture window
Blue eyes see

Loons in the morning mist

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Lake Loons in the morning mist 012I heard the loons in the dark before the dawn. The lake was shrouded in mist with cool air over warmer water providing the setting. The loon couple were cruising in the mist and provided the perfect muse for my nikon to play. A grand way to start the day. My goldens Zachary and Marcus sniffed out the early morning as I find I can cast a shadow before coffee. Peace!

A Letter of love to my daughter on her Birthday

I have written this letter in my head a thousand times for it is either my last hope fulfilled or my lost hope forever. Rebecca you have never been forgotten and you are thought of and loved by me each day. In my minds’ eye you are the one who always tried your best to be a good daughter and steer clear of trouble. I believe that you wanted nothing to do with making a scapegoat and victim out of me. Yes, you and I were both innocent victims of the madness and dysfunction which occurred. I believe you have survived the trauma and built a new life for yourself. I am proud of you now as I have always been for you doing your best under trying circumstances. I am glad that I was able to say, ‘I love you” the last time I saw you.

I reached out to J in November 2010 with a letter. It is 100% the truth but she rejected it outright in a letter from her lawyer threatening me. However, you are my daughter and daughters are forever. I have enclosed a copy of a framed picture of me on a birthday celebrating with my girls. It is next to my desk with other photos which I look at each day. Rebecca the love I see in your eyes is the love I feel for you. It is wrong to let that love be chained and imprisoned by a dysfunctional disconnect. I was never allowed to communicate my truth. I was shunned and abandoned by a family I truly loved and love still.

Each night I still say, “good night I love you.” Each morning I awake to another day without you.
I take some soulace in having kept journals each year of our life together as a family. I have taken a few quotes from the pages,
Journal pg.17-“Our family, It is an absolute wonder watching the girls grow and being a part of it.” [The saddest part is all that I have missed seeing in your lives during these years apart.]

Journal pg.41-“Today is warm, could be 60°with a touch of spring. H and Rebecca are playing make believe with their little people. J is registering Rebecca for kindergarten. I will miss having Rebecca around the house during the day-she is a part of the sunshine of my life. I will savor watching them grow and try to appreciate each trying stage of their development. It only happens once for each of them.”

Journal pg.44 from Girls Bikes and the Park-“Rebecca made an artwork out of junk-she can see the beauty in everything.”
[I too try to see the beauty in life. I live on a lake and the nature of the place gives some comfort.]

Journal pg.63-Rebecca’s 5th Birthday-“I feel wonderful about it being Rebecca’s Birthday-she lights up my life.” [I have missed so many and do not want to miss anymore. I have a hard time on your birthdays but pray you are well and keep you in a special place in my heart.]

Journal pg.81-“Sunny and fair for Rebecca’s graduation from Sunshine Nursery School, we have her home for the summer.” [Congratulations on graduating from UMA with honors in Comparative Literature]

I am doing a lot better since writing the letter to J in November. I had to rebuild my life and move on or my spirit would have perished in depression over missing you and your sisters. I retired from the Fire Dept.early [there were too many reminders in our home town] and returned to University to study English Language, Literature and Creative Writing. I have always been interested in writing and also wished to experience what my girls were doing. Finishing school in 2010 led to a deepening of depression as years had gone by with none of you reaching out to me. In November I started volunteering at the Veterans Health Center during the week. Two or three nights a week I volunteer at a Music Hall in NH and get to see the shows for free. Music has always been a spiritual connection in my life. Volunteering helped me get through the worst of it.

Now on a cloudy, foggy and misty early spring day as the first fisherman casts a line where the lake ice has left the western shore I cast a hope into the new season. Just as with fishing I know not if the line will reach you and if it does if it will be taken. Luck and hope are common denominators. I pray you get the letter and consider my truth with the perspective of critical thinking that you used to get honors at UMA.
I Love You-Dad
daughters and a fathers love are forever

Stones

Stones
Cycle ride with clouds moving broken and dark, rain threatening
On reserve vapors ran out of gas by a town graveyard
Found a pencil and sharpened it on old stone
Walked on grass border of stone markers
Times of birth and of death
Family plots seem to tell tales of past lives
Felt the passing in cracks of gravestone and thunder
Amazed at how the years touch and wear the hard surfaces
A 1945 death, a sentinel of stone 63 years at attention
Standing guard appeared ancient
Even rock wears the touch of nature in time
Sat on stones of granite, placed with care and cemented into a wall
Which handsome and honorable fronts the Deerfield cemetery
Thunderclap and light rain as maple tree standing in spring attire
Slows drops and gives semblance of shelter
Past weeks gusty gestations blew strong and bits and pieces of flower
In haphazard arrangement dotted the lawn
Detached and free but now without set purpose
Lost from their places by lone stones
Gathered some and gave them order in bouquet
Found old grave site stone holding a child of three and placed them there carefully
Light sprinkles in a dry month are not enough to help thirsty grass
Found a bandage but not the size to patch the wound
A packet of plant food but not enough to make love grow
But the fortunate find of a marking tool, a gift from the gods
For one man under a maple by the graves on an old stone wall
Found he didn’t need gas, for there was lead in his pencil
© Captain Ken Pothier

The Diner

 

Mary Ann’s Diner

The Diner

I egress to an overnight frost, perhaps the last of this season. A different road is taken this early morn under cloudy sky. The rise and fall of hills–twists and turns of a never straightforward road. I pass old farms and churches’ spires. They mark time and my passing on the road to Mary Ann’s Diner and Family Restaurant. It is done up 50’s style. Choice of booths, tables for two and four squeeze in six in a pinch. The counter for single lonely souls lost in a paper, a cigarette, a dream. TV is on but no sound and here no one cares for that kind of news. The music here is fifties and sixties oldies played back to back in an endless flow from past memory to present thought, noninvasive in a subtle and seamless meld of years. I sit with the lonely souls at the counter with a local newspaper but it is hard to read with all the life and sound around me. I play name that tune–name that band–feel that memory–emotion with the music. The flow of music matches the life of the place and the quickstep of the waitresses. Full–bodied waitresses in long poodle skirts, bobby socks and soft shoes, friendly,

carrying their loads with big smiles. Coffee and ice water brought to me with never– ending refills. Ol’ style breakfast made to your liking. I order steak tips marinated in raspberry sauce with eggs over medium, home fries and raisin toast-$7.50. Smiles small talk and refills free and this diner’s experience priceless.

A place where you are always welcome a sanctuary of sorts. Local contractors make their plans for the day; count the week’s profit and loss. Workers of all sorts fill their tanks with good food and fuel for the day’s travails, still stiff from yesterdays work. They shake it off here and get it up to do it again in their own endless flow of work, recovery, work that makes this country run.

Couples meet greet hangout, form and break relationships in a life flow of the yin and yang-the profit and loss of love and affection. Families sit together and show the strain and gain of their growth over time.

Conversations of the day: weather, sports, family progress, accomplishment and setback, goals and dreams, gossip and truth all meld with the music of the place. Spring’s arrival and blossoming, another week removed from winter, a new season and a fresh if cool and cloudy day.

No promises made; however, those who stop at Mary Ann’s leave with a full stomach and a spirit filled with smell of coffee and good food, the sound of human contact and connection in varied form.

A man sits at the counter alone; two bikers who have hardly touched their breakfast are leaving in a hurry. I move to the space provided and find out why they are moving on. The man in his 30’s is a local and a regular. He is also manic–depressive, schizophrenic, Bi-Polar or all of the above. He immediately talks to me at breakneck speed in a flow of words that have meaning but make no real sense. In ten minutes he goes from being the reincarnation of Jim Morrison of the Doors to a Naval Academy graduate at the head of his class. He had a busy night at a secret NATO meeting with CIA, FBI and national security

 

types. The meeting ended early when the Russians did not show up. He tells me he is still in the military and I ask in what way? He says that he is in deep too deep undercover and secret. He moves from booth to booth asking for a cigarette as I move over one stool at the counter. I can listen better and finish my breakfast from this vantage point and the waitresses understand that I cannot solve this man or the nation’s problems today. I must finish and join the workers soon as schedule intrudes on the seamless flow of music and conversation. Connections made and lost–hope for the lonely soul at the counter that tomorrow he will find communication, connection, and peace. Hope for the man with the paper that he will turn the page to someone’s smile and a new start. All in sanctuary found at a 50’s style diner, oldies playing as full–bodied women in long skirts serve up a new day.

 

Snowshoes and Sorrow

January thaw of feelings and snow

Break a trail on a lake’s surface-Snowshoes in the heavy wet white

Hard going on the trail and in how today touches me

Weight bearing down on broken path and sore shoulders

Left alone again

Reach out and touch

Earth Water Wind and Fire

Natural surround beauty eases the burden

Sorrow comes by and I say

“Hello ol’ friend”

You always arrive when dreams are broken, love distant

Worked hard to reach this day

Felt it would be one of pure joy

We will celebrate it somehow, my ol’ friend sorrow and I

Will not wallow in pain nor invite despair to this party

We will make a path and search for the Warrior, “Iron John” Butterfly

Pushed away we push on, gather what we need

Move forward; find reward in the motion, in the work

Feel this day, sweat and experience

Tangents, torrents of torment

Be Damned

Sorrow I will hang with awhile but never join

We will be colleagues in feeling life’s travails

Know how human a man is by how alive

His emotion, nerve ends and beginnings feel, in motion

Knowledge gained in not giving up, in the path made

We have been here before and always move on

Sorrow, a steady sturdy soulful companion

I stood barefoot in the snow

Took a breath and let it go

Amber Muse

Amber Muse

 

Chink tinkle of frazil ice breaking at the bow

of the last boat on the water

Circles made just off the edge of newly frozen surface

blocking my access to the shadowy far shore

Watch the wake play at the line of open and closed

A sunshine day

I celebrate life with my boys Zachary and Marcus

Golden retriever working dogs

young and bursting just sniffing out the world

Calm lake but for our passing wake waves

We are intimate with each moment they

show me how to play with time

not passing it but living each breath

as my amber muse’s touching the piano keys

use the sound of breaking moving living lake ice

as backup along with open water and blue sky

in filling the soundful wordperfect nuance of

sound and day