watching a great ground swell
We are, at this time, at each other.
It’s not like the sixties
but hell, we are getting it on.
Full fledged fucking with each other.
I have to say I like it.
I like it because we are talking
Yeah there is a lot of shouting
but suddenly people not only care
are unafraid of engaging each other.
So I sit here on this eve
Can we all just get along?
I pressed my palms
against my eyes
I watched Willy Wonka pixels
dance in small squares
blue orange and white
Bare beyond belief
upon the sand
under the stand of the lifeguard
they sat on an empty landscape
with the breeze blowing
tender to the touch
raw emotions rolled with the waves
The sunlight washing winter away.
If you were born in the dark ages
and I saw first light today
we would still be friends
would separate us
I could call
and you would be there
“how you doing dick face”
loyal like brothers
willing to bury something in the backyard
nothing could separate us
not dirty deeds
rising with greed
not being born in another time
we would be friends no matter what
you could take a baseball bat to that.
Within your grip
the moon the tides
Can not change it
I will struggle
Strain at the hips
Drive my teeth
Through my jaw
before I lose you
There isn’t a force on earth greater than you
Not a pocket of air
More comfortable to be with in
Of what I am
I have no Idea who you call at night. I never asked for your cell number. Its those wild blues. The grey blue, its that laugh. I sat there with a smoke in my mouth. A thousand drags, a thousand draws on life looking at your freckles. I wondered how you looked before the sun came before you were kissed with so much beauty.
I woke like any other morning and looked around me, I looked at the sun through the window, unsure of how late it really was but when I turned I saw your back and each drop of light that ever touched you. I looked over you like a field. How long would it take to get across you? Each freckle a blade of grass. I wondered when first light had touched your back. I was sucked in. The scent of your hair made me breathe deeper. A thousand freckles unsure of where to begin.
The next time I hooked my finger on your jeans, the tip touching your hip bone. Like citrus you said to me and I thought of lemons. I was sure I smelled and tasted of the earth. I was sure I was low tide. But you said no you taste like citrus.
Cookies and giggles we laugh within our eyes. Your sneakers scuffing my shoes. I can still feel your hip bones and the way your breath was drawn as we touched cotton to cotton.
How you said we had gone to far. I agreed and you slept better. You slept better than you had so many nights before. But I lingered in the late night waiting on the chirps of birds because I could not contain myself. Wondering why I wanted to write love letter again when I never even asked for your number.
Photo by Tom Poet
In one day Cutch managed to fly 286 miles. He made it from Long Island to South Carolina in two days. Five days later he was in Cuba, he then crossed the Caribbean and by September 27th he has in Columbia. Tagged with a GPS transmitter he was being watched the whole time by ornithologist Rob Bierregaard. On the 29th Cutch’s signal stopped moving. Rest assured there were no Colombian cartels involved in his untimely demise. He died while doing what osprey do, hunt for fish.
Photo “borrowed” from Mr.Bierregaard website
Cutch was accidentally impaled on a piece of a tree sticking out of a pond on the Chico Mono Ranch. At first Cutch’s death was thought to be an assassination but it turned out to be an accidental suicide. Mr. Bierregaard thought Cutch may have been shot down at a fish farm or something but it turns out he just didn’t see that little bit of branch sticking out of the water.
Yeah I “borrowed” this one too
There is still hope for North Fork Bob an osprey who is figured to arrive here on the 1st or 2nd of April. North Fork Bob has had a transmitter on since August of 2010 and still appears to be going strong. That’s good news.
I know the osprey by me is back already and as far as I know he/she doesn’t have a name. I just call the osprey TP for the piece of white paper sticking out of the nest.
Photo by Tom Poet
TP taking off after I went to close to the nest
For the full story on Cutch and how he made national news check out the story in The Suffolk Times. I’ll be keeping an eye on TP since he/she is right by where I go fishing with my girls. I can always feel spring coming on when the birds of prey arrive on the shores. And Please remember to always check the water before diving. Have a great summer.
Check out the Cutch’s flight and story here.
North Fork Bob
Richard O. “Rob” Bierregaard, Jr.