Author: Marty Luster

In memory of Barbara’s mom, Mildred Kirschbaum, October 12, 1912 – January 1  , 2012.

IN SEINE FIELD

She’s in Seine Field, east of a nearby gate,

with her arms aiming at the fearsome sky,

as if proclaiming to all the trees, and

all the birds,  all the humans, and all the

creeping beings, all the grasses, all the flowers,

all the elements of earth and sky and

all the spirits of those that came before

and the force of  those who will come after:

I am here and I am perfect!

I absorb your bright sun, and rejoice in

your stormy clouds. I shake away your salt

winds that have taken many good men down ,

and I withstand your blasts of cold and your

furious summer fires; my roots are deep

and suck the nourishment of this dear land;

my limbs, long and limber , protect my core;

my elegant needles are dense and lush.

I am here and I am perfect!

And even when that day comes when branches

drop and my limbs crack and my trunk decays;

when my glorious needles curl , yellow

and fall, when even light breezes threaten

my ability to stand straight and tall  –

even when that end day comes and I fear

I can’t provide shade to the wanderer

and home to the joyous souls of Seine Field, still

I am here and I am perfect!

Marty Luster

We all know that the sea often reflects the sky. But sometimes the sky seems to reflect the sea, with the waves rolling in and crashing on a celestial shore.

THE JOY WITHIN

It’s hard for a foul mood to light around here,

no matter the cause:  a personal slight,

feeling poorly, some minor frustration or

irritation that binds my mind from time to time.

How can the joy within not be brought to a brilliant

glow when I start the day by walking the dog

to the cadence of the gong  in Ipswich Bay

or the  sound of the horn at the  Annisquam Light;

when, in summer, at night, I drift off to the

music of the sibilent surf, like a great

white- sound machine that calms my busy

monkey brain when it swings from one thought to

another, from one worry to another.

It’s hard to be morose when a walk on the

beach brings me the ocean’s incense, the

busy shore birds, the breezes  tinged with salt;

when the sun setting on a dune and a tree shaped

by the sea wind has me on my knees in awe.

Marty Luster

On October 30, Len Burgess posted a magnificent photo of the Burnham House in Essex.

Here is a different treatment of the same scene brought to you with the help of the little genies who live inside my computer.

To see the beach in your dream symbolizes the meeting between your two states of mind. The sand is symbolic of the rational and mental processes while the water signifies the irrational, unsteady, and emotional aspects of yourself. It is a place of transition between the physical/material and the spiritual.

Text from dreammoods.com

WEST END WALK

Her shadow preceded her by many feet

as she whisked up Main Street in the still West End,

strongly backlit by the sun low in the sky.

The glare also gave brief life to the streetlights

and they glowed as if they were old gas lamps, not

those a modern day designer has copied.

Facades and doorways and holiday wreaths were

accented by the intense low rays of the

same sun that shined when these buildings were first built.

It seemed odd to me that a person should be

moving so quickly through a momentary

scene that the strobe- light sun sought to freeze in time.

Marty Luster

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