Thursday, October 13, 2016

Morning Glory Light on a Sandcastle

—Poems by B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA
—Anonymous Photos of Sandcastles from Around the World


It is early October
on the Cape
a poet is playing sax riffs
on the tall dunes
until late afternoon
listening to the last echo
of the trembling wind
between the sea and sky
when a narrowing sunshine
is interrupted by songbirds
shading the Van Gogh eyes
of a sandcastle sculptor
within my reach
discovering the purest
of images in the cool air
along the swells and motion
of my orange kayak oars
as a few branches
from a weekend rainstorm
are spread over ocean waves
when time drifts by morning
in the heart of first light
for a half-hour
over a loving hand
no longer in the darkness
or anchored by the shores
admiring the Autumn dust
amid blazing wild flowers
as Evergreen leaves fall
my words shape our day
hearing children's laughter
abstracted in my watercolors
as one reaches for shells
on the deserted island
amid the liquid silence.


Fall colors my day
conquers my nature walk
captivates my travelogue
signs in my poet's notebook
kisses me from an orange paint job
and red Mondrian mask
shaping the sharp tones
of my soprano sax riffs
unhinging the stone
in the print of Giacometti
covering my studio wall
the strong October wind
bends my limbs near the tree
with my initials on it,
a football lands
on my exercise board
near my anchored kayak
on the Cape's wild shore
Fall rolls a smoke on leaves
of my subterranean speech
eats up my last love letter
in grey scattered ashes
wishes me a good new year
the mad swirling wind
sweeps me away in my kayak
folds me in my deepest bed
replies to me by Elm Hill
reaches my poet spirit
of my rubbed-out initials.


On my storm window
along the dunes of the Cape
rain pelts during my dream
by starts and fits of waves
recognizing myself
with a trace of my kayak
now anchored for a season
in the shadow of the Bay
by an ice-fishing barge
air-lifted birds fly over
going South
on the surging docks
I'm wishing for a shadow
of sunshine to accent
my subterranean passages
of my rock-ribbed
dream visions and mimes
embracing the Coastline leaves
shed by Evergreen and Pines.


One day at a time
as my poet lines fall
under the piano legs
of my baby grande
in times which renege
by playing a Beethoven sonata
with my notes at nightfall
slipping into my shoes
by footsteps of a slow
disintegrated tedium
of universal memory riffs
vibrating in my transparency
illuminated by city gas lamps
of a nearly disconnected Beat
in the silence of jazz's infinity
from my living soundproof
studio with starry chimes
with an indifferent drummer
high on his own compositions
in my private lights and landscape
from a dazzling free association
interwoven by meanings
of an educated distraction.


Emerging early from
October's bed covers
at the bread-and-breakfast
concealing my eyes
at the likeness
of Hart Crane
lost in Hurricane Andrew
at sea in Florida
in this morning's half-light
knowing this face toward me
has the light of a miracle
from a sky angel fulfilling
and revealing a prophesy
of a Brazilian priest, Adrien
saying to me, at eleven
"bz, bless the lost"
and urging me to go on
at the Crossroads of life
"that a poet has a spirit
to make it to heaven"
when a mirror of slumber
awakes my alarm clock
and my night by the docks
spreads out ocean bird sounds
to reveal my Beat
underground words
out of darkness
into the morning glory light
soon hearing the herons
as the sea motions and roars
about the Cape's bird lovers
with a million waves sent to me
on these Fall foliage days.


Everywhere is rain
in Vermont
even the Autumn wind
careened on my boat
anchored up here
or a winter's repast
near a contested breeze
between the sky and earth
by the shore's tall dunes
playing my Spanish guitar
my aunt is still asleep
among our Evergreens
after gathering blueberries
as the silent dawn leaves us
makes a gesture for a poem
in a my walled-in vacation spot
the Persian cat rumples
the rock garden
by whistling songbirds
with my old camera
shooting my favorite Elm
I'm taking my bicycle
to drink the mineral water
by the well’s spring
near the Fall's
laugh-talking foliage
near the recently mowed grass
as I go for a morning run
into a half-mile marathon
for a children's sports charity
and buy a fresh croissant.


We checked out
of the Vermont inn
after a cup of java
and a spinach croissant
putting my motorcycle
in the vagrant parking lot
when a sunken-eyed poet
who has heard me read
the night before
acting out of sight
asks me if he can cab-share
and sleep on my attic floor
I wonder if this Greek Byron
who is a twink
a twenty-something barfly
who showed up at midnight
asking me for a match
but acting high as a kite
who tried to catch
a ride with me
told me he knew my aunt
from nearby
who always came though
when he needed money
or a place to stay
or for more drinks
but that he had a bar fight
as we said goodbye
and have twenty winks.


Last night's mad sky
I had a one-eyed gaze
at the full-moon crossing
along my jogger’s path
yet today at the college
I'm delivering as a guest
a literature lecture
on Bishop, Lowell and Plath
when I hear the sigh of a fawn
along the marathon track
this dawn is transparent
in the deserted forest shadows
the sun shines through rays
my footsteps do not disturb
anyone is in a metamorphosis
to boast of a ghost as a person
or demon who is in sight
near my anchored kayak
‘way back on the shore
I'm picking up strawberries
in the landscaped green hills
and newly harvested fields
praying for peace
over the country road
searching for mushrooms
in afternoon hours to fill
your arms with an increase
of swaying jonquil flowers.


On the cabin-fevered sand
my poetry images
have a way to kiss love
goodbye and circle the wind
by a beach bum's
mirror of language
now your sailor eyes are closed
by the sea's running tide
but your lips are open
reminding me of Hart Crane
as a Beat's pad opens
for those lost at sea
holding up a metaphor's likeness
to the ray's wide sunshine
as a rain shower leads us
to reach out
when all of love' shadows
bury my Autumnal memory
from holding up worry beads
of my nana praying the rosary.

 Morning Glory Light

Today’s LittleNip:

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day ...

― Hart Crane


—Medusa, with thanks to B.Z. Niditch for helping us build sandcastles in the sky today. For more about Hart Crane, go to For the 10 Coolest Sandcastle Competitions in the World, go to

 Celebrate poetry—drench yourself in words—
and remember that Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe will 
start in Sacramento tonight at 8pm. Or, if you’re over in 
Sonoma, Readers' Books will present 
Katherine Hastings and Susan Kelly-DeWitt
tonight (130 E. Napa St.), 7pm.
Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column 
at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry 
events in our area—and note that more may be 
added at the last minute.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.