Monday, September 01, 2014

Breathing In Echoes

—Poems by B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA
—Photos by Denise Flanigan


A landscape with fragrances
keeps a forest vigil
from pinewood and wild roses
you wear your gemstone
of Dominican blue amber
on a blushing silver dress
as a once-wedded witness
under a timbered canopy
by heavily dense fir trees
hearing again the fireflies
bluebirds and crickets
when the first dead leaf
in the luminous wind
falls over orange brown foliage
we are still breathing in echoes
covered with sunflowers
under these green mountains
as on this anniversary
covenant and reunion
we will again dance
with eagles' wings
on cold feet flying over
the hollowed sky
embodying first light
at a wedding
under this anniversary
in our loving shelter
seated on river beds
under the many ray's
waxy lustrous horizon.



On a park bench
by a freshly painted gazebo
putting on my snorkel
above the blue surface
off Cape Cod's waters
around the amber landscape
as long as summer lasts
with a Danish life guard
in front of first light
with his kindled camera
and voice to record
taking pictures of turtles
and many colored fish
under the sea.


Scarabs of an amber gem
from my looking glass
I locate
out at the sea port
near Pigeon Cove
sunshine gleams over me
my arms extend
along the rocks
of the beachfront
under a landscape of sky
glancing out
from the August absent air
on this dog day
heating many suns
as gold and neon butterflies
gleam out at me
over a just-initialed BZ
on this poem's tree of life
grows and disappears
by heavy trembling winds
at the port's luminous waves.



A lightning bolt
hits a young guy nailed
in his sailor suit
who just skydived
in a white firmament
above me
dangling and suspended
like the august wings
of a mourning dove
waking me
on my beachcomber blanket
effacing a downpour
of cloud and rain
praying for a sign of life
as he emerges unscathed
from the legroom
of so many resplendent skies
comes close to my welcome
in our stretched-out arms.



Newport engages
the sea's other waves
opening a memory
of writing and fishing
by the shore voices
early at dawn
the wind rips your blanket
along the water's surf,
by shadows of shore birds
in a foreign tongue
combing the beach
seeing repainted daydreams
at first light
that sway at the breeze
trying to read
your last revision
as you hear fish as mirrors
in your mind's eye,
when sounds as air waves
encourage the language
of the high tides
now in your dingy
which floats and rises
in an amber imagination
leaving you spaced out
by the gulls' flapping wings.


Uncombed on an amber road
close to a home harbor port
almost disabled and sleepless
dying from regrets
after your two years at sea
having a day of amnesia
among ambrosia
once setting sail
in a life jacket
and old navy shirt
now with a South Sea fever
dropping as a still life
supports me on board beds
covering ocean docks
with a horizon of vistas
poised for my gestures
from new Indian sunglasses
bought for a song
at the last fishing port
as you recall
the keel and mast
from great winds
aromatic waves
blowing hurricanes
flirting with daily death
by deserted islands
with nascent earthquakes
bubbling volcanoes
with each echo in my ears
at unexpected storms
and tsunami forecasts
your detailed logs
waiting to be set to verse
in your mind's eye
as you take in
one more voyage
from beachhead squalls
like Melville's ventures
with a tidal journal
seeing dimensions
along every coast
swallowing a conscience
sprinkled with the rain
of memory and remorse.

Dancing Waters


August 26 at noon
and someone is watching me
making for a childhood path
as a first chestnut falls
on my river-run day
to an amber-like island
of memory opening
from secretive eyes
known only to shadow
of an entrapped body
sleeping on the beach
in an August dawn
under a sun-studded
sky and ocean,
deserted from answers
of summer school
and forgotten questions
after an invisible miracle
wanting to live again
along the shore's solitude
confessing the past
mesmerized by absence
of this surrounding nature
of exotic blue birds and fauna
a paradise wearing tall clouds
listening to a sea echo
of my own voice.


Today's LittleNip:


The summer's end lands
quicker than a butterfly
we will not pretend
to say our goodbye,
but soon we welcome
a new resuming season
then an Autumn sunshine
leaves us with its own reason,
we will keep our memory
retrieving us by the sea
as shining pictures and poetry
are reliving in our life's society.



B.Z. Niditch