Ed. Note: Island poet and musician Jon Campbell sent in the following poem after experiencing what he referred to as getting “sand-blasted all weekend.” (The title, for those non-movie buffs out there, refers to the name of the famous sled that was thrown into the furnace at the end of Orson Welles’ “Citizen Kane.”)
By Jon Campbell
In October it blew hard from the North
For seven, eight, nine days
A dry Nor’easter
Along the bluffs on the East edge of the Island
Gulls shot down the wind with rigid wings
And with a casual flick, turned
And coasted back up, unflappable
If gulls could be said to be happy,
These were as ecstatic as kids who had
Dragged that old sled out of the basement.
Ed. Note: The following poems were sent in by Steve Holloway, pastor at the Harbor Church.
By Steve Holloway
Surf the foliage: walk
at peak Vermont to the coast:
then you’ll get enough.
The island leaves burned
by salt miss gold entirely,
just give up and drop.
We too lose color:
stripped branches, when we had hoped
to leave in orange.
Is it desire or
the memory of desire:
fall dragonflies, fog.