Talking Head: Less on Top; More Inside!
Bob Surrette is an aspiring writer of books who lives in the middle of Cape Cod.
Bob has had occasional success writing short but entertaining pieces as a guest author for newspapers such the Washington Post, the Cape Cod Times and the Provincetown Banner.
He has several major works in progress. Please watch this space for future announcements.
You can contact Bob at rjsurrette(at)aol.com.
Hyannis, Massachusetts; 20 February 2013
I am told that to write or recite great poetry one must suffer, one must be in pain. So, in preparation for this reading I took down my outside holiday decorations just a few hours ago.
Cape Cod Defies the Sea
The Cape's eastern edge stems the Sea’s big waves,
Rushing fresh from the North Atlantic towards America.
They crash at Nausett before they can rock Plymouth
And inundate the lovely coastal lowlands.
The Cape turns in on itself and imposes a Bay
Cuddling the Stellwagen in its crooked arm,
Creating homesteads for staid shell fish
And deep shallows for millions of milling swim fish.
The Cape makes a Sound to its south
With its unseen off-shore two sister Islands
Forcing the Sea into sand bars along the littoral
And forming unintended acres of placid salt water.
Cape critter care givers mend wounded seals,
Defying the Sea’s death sentences on them;
Then sends them back with press releases,
Hopefully not to be some Great White’s dinner.
The Cape pokes the Sea with solid stone breakwaters,
Smearing the natural shore line.
Dredges move sand from here to there
Ignoring the Seas depository desires.
The Canal is an unkind Cape cut.
The Sea did NOT want the Bay waters
Sloshing to and fro with the Sound’s.
Would that Sea Storm Sandy had filled it back in.
The Cape leeches effluents of hairy origins
Into the tidal estuaries that drain to the Sea.
The pristine waters created on the third day
Can only suck up so much muck before choking.
Kettle ponds pock mark the Cape’s interior,
Formed by puddles glaciers left behind.
They capture rain water meant for the Sea
But only release it back up to the sky.
The Cape forces the Gulf Stream
To veer off course and drive to the right.
Eventually the Sea begrudgingly warms
The southwest coasts of Ireland and Wales.
The Cape steals energy out of Sea waves
As they crash on its sandy beaches
Giving visitors a grand strand
At the nexus of land and not land.
Will the Sea one day rise up
And take salty revenge on our beloved Cape?
Will Mattapoisett Harbor then find itself
Suddenly facing the open ocean?
I read this poem to the Sea this morning. It objected to one quatrain. The Sea found it too painful. I apologize for the pain you may feel as I read these four half lines to you. They are not part of the poem any more.
The Sea is pained at how we treat the Cape’s original peoples.
We should not be gambling in their future.
The Sea cries when Realtors sell its precious shoreline
To outsiders, to off-Capers, especially to Yankee fans.
Copyright 2013 RJSurrette(at)AOL.Com