i was once a child of the rock, north america’s eastern-most landmass, newfoundland. it may be an island but it is approximately the size of portugal so it is a vast, sparsely-populated land of wilderness, surrounded by the icy waters of the north atlantic.
inspired to capture some of its rugged cold and the vibrancy of its colors and the people who live on its harsh coastline, i have selected the spare and rigid form of the haiku, a visitor from another island nation not dissimilar in many respects.
while japanese verse may feel a world away from the salt spray and fish-devoted life of traditional newfoundland, these are two cultures of the sea bound inextricably to her waves and currents, her gifts and the sacrifices she demands of her neighbors.
journey with me across the island three lines at a time, from conception bay to the northern peninsula and back down to the west coast’s whale-soaked legacy. you won’t find stories here in the traditional sense but you may just smell the ocean’s spray if you close your eyes and breathe deeply the essence of the atlantic.
Coming Summer 2020
From the book…
rocks form new beaches
as far as eyes may take me
where is all the sand
flowers of the sea
deposited at my feet
what is a caplin
standing on the cliff
witness myriad islands
whose names are now lost
bells ring in the distance
calling us to pray inside
my god is outdoors
rowing at sunset
barely within my vision
where are you going
stones beneath my feet
slippery yet inviting
firelight on the beach
did you call my name
the wind stole your voice and mine
nothing left to say
fishing in the bay
is there any fish to catch
does it matter
silent mornings
relative stillness overwhelms
i don’t hear the birds
harbor at sunrise
long since awoken in noise
where is the foghorn
ships’ steel walls shadow
colorful streets with their shops
yet sunlight streams in
far from city noise
easy to pretend i’m alone
surrounded by life