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A Medley of New England Poems 1

Updated on December 18, 2016
juneaukid profile image

Richard F. Fleck's first teaching position was in New England where he hiked up hills and mountains in and around this picturesque area.

Robert Frost Postage Stamp

Winslow Homer
Winslow Homer
Andrew Wyeth's "Wind from the Sea" 1947
Andrew Wyeth's "Wind from the Sea" 1947 | Source

Poems:

Robert Frost's Face of Verse

Frosty white eyebrows, hoary mass of hair,

like snow-covered bushes on high mountains,

deep set, wintry eyes, wrinkles all around,

like frozen lakes deep in northern valleys,

leathery, windblown face with smile or frown,

like rocky landscape changing with reasons,

Robert Frost's expressions of pain and joy

were his own country in a face of verse.


Break in the Clouds (after Homer's White Mountains painting)

Blowing, foggy clouds rush over summit

and race on to join swiftly moving gray sky.

Wet rocks glisten in glare of alpine sun

faintly glowing through sea-coast-like air.

For an instant brilliant blue sky appears,

and dizzy views into valley below

surprise saddled riders on mountain slope

high above treeline's gnarled branches.


Prout's Neck (after Homer's painting)

Top heavy crested wave curves down and pounds rocks,

and white spray with foam shoots high into wind

blowing against trees like sudden shower.

Homer's inspiration is Prout's Neck in a storm

that changes slowly with crested waves to mere chop,

and black clouds break into reddening sky

as lighthouse lights twinkle in dark distance.

Now only the moon betrays a few whitecaps.


Kissing the Moon (after Homer's painting)

From a salty old wharf splashed by the sea,

three sailors set off in a wooden boat

bobbing up and down with the moon to the lee.

Rolling green waves rise like walls of a moat

hiding all but three heads like peas in a spoon,

as choppy waves swell and kiss the white moon.



Andrew Wyeth's Wind*

Curtains light as cobwebs

blow in a sharp gust through

an open window facing a salty bay

bordered by dark spruce around

a green meadow with wheel ruts

leading up to old cabin

under white sky and a glaring sun.

An old woman, firmly resolved,

let ocean air rush in at last,

coming off a point of land

where husband lost his life and

is buried within those dark spruce.


*This painting called "Wind from the Sea"

is one of my favorites as it reminds me of

my boyhood days along the coast of Maine.




A Connecticut Book Barn

I squat and kneel to see

all the books on each and

every shelf while rain drills

the roof above to make them all

a bit more musty.

How good they smell those

old and moldy volumes and

stacks of obscure magazines

with fading covers.

Is that Shoenberg I hear,

or just irregular drippings

from the ceiling into pots

above endless sets of Browning.

Still another room to explore

lit up with bare lightbulbs

dangling between the aisles.

Here's a book I think I'll buy--

Rain Forests of Southern Latitudes.

I'll find a stool and read a while

until the closing hour and hope

by then the rain has stopped.

All but the last poem originally appeared in my first book, Palms, Peaks, and Prairies (The Golden Quill Press, 1967).








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    • juneaukid profile image
      Author

      Richard Francis Fleck 7 years ago from Denver, Colorado

      Thank you, Hello, hello

    • Hello, hello, profile image

      Hello, hello, 7 years ago from London, UK

      Thank you, juneaukid, for giving me that pleasure to read them.

    • juneaukid profile image
      Author

      Richard Francis Fleck 7 years ago from Denver, Colorado

      Thank you AuraEmber. I'm sure your poetry is unique and fine.

    • AuraEmber profile image

      AuraEmber 7 years ago

      Every time I read someone's poetry, I either feel proud of my own skill or ashamed that I have dared to be proud of my own crude writings. Right now, my feelings are tending toward the later.