Taking Photos on Cape Ann

 

Like the hummingbird, I flit from one bright spot

to another, sucking  the nectar from deep within.

 

Like the hummingbird, I appear motionless

just before I take my sustenance from the flower.

 

Like the hummingbird, I am gone before you see me;

I  leave -  sated with the fullness of my life.

 

Like the hummingbird, I know my way

and revisit my favorite places.

 

Like the hummingbird, I am nurtured by

the colors, perfume and sweetness of this garden.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

The Gift

 

He had spent his youthful summers on Cape Ann,

but life, as it has a way of doing, took him many miles away

to a place where his kids were born and are growing up

not knowing Stage Fort, or the harbor, or the people of Gloucester.

 

They have never seen the brave souls on the greasy pole

or splashed in the Good Harbor surf, or, until this day, stood

on a rock watching the fishing boats live out the traditions of

nearly 400 years that began on this precise spot.

 

So he gave his kids a gift, one that they will remember

and cherish and make them think of him well after they

are grown and have children of their own;

a gift that only a parent can give.

 

On this lovely day in July he brought them to Gloucester

and showed them around and told them stories

of his summers in this place and gave them

a part of his life that they will keep forever.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

 

 

 

Frenchman’s Pier

 

How sublime it would be to have lived here as a child;

to amble out on Frenchman’s Pier to cast a line,

or, in the early morning, hear the tide softly

brush the marsh grass of the Little River’s gentle shores.

 

Oh, what it would have been like to take my skiff

to explore  Susan Point and Stanwood Point

and keep going beyond Biskie Head into the

Annisquam -  and from there  -  from there, anywhere!

 

A place where I could steer a course in a summer breeze

that never ends and see foreign lands and

mountains and magical islands, all while on

my back, gazing up from Frenchman’s Pier.

 

 

© Marty Luster 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Summer Glare

 

Aboard the Pequod, Ishmael describes the

Japanese Sea as illumined by “freshets of effulgences”

or overflowing streams of brilliant light.

Did he, while in Nantucket, not experience

what we, in Gloucester, find daily in our summer sky?

 

Here, where the ocean cleanses the air and

allows the sun to reach us without filter;

where most summer days produce an explosion

of light that washes out the brilliant colors

around us and makes us squint to get around town;

 

Where shadows are not soft and moody, but

are stark and sharp, and walking down a flight

of outside stairs requires most careful placement

of our feet, and where we learn to recognize

people and places by their silhouettes,

 

and where sun and sand and sea glare so that we

sense the beach, rather than see it, like actors

looking past the footlights to an unseen audience,

and where  patterns in the sand go unnoticed

as we walk the shore into the cauldron’s fearsome light.

 

It’s as if we cannot be trusted with

the airs of summer; that we must be

protected from the magnificence around us

lest we succumb to this abundance of beauty

if we should see all that is within the glare.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

The Dance

 

Once each month we witness a celestial ballet

when the orb of night ascends in the east

just as the sun sets in the west and we

move from sunlight into moonglow.

 

And I, from my place above the Annisquam,

get to see the reflected glory of the setting sun

beaming brightly from Thurston Point and,

at the same time, the rising moon’s illumined face.

 

What exquisite choreography; what exact timing;

what a marvel of precision and what unique seats

we, here on Earth, have – to be able to be,

however  briefly, exactly between opposing sun and moon.

 

And the performance is repeated month after month,

year upon year, eon after eon,

with the ballerinas always on time to dance a dance

that will continue long after the audience is gone.

 

When the Earth turns to ice or dust and

the oceans are dry or spread upon the land;

or when infernos burn and whirlwinds blow,

for the sun and moon, the dance goes on.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

Far Out in the Harbor

 

Far out in the harbor in the pink dusk

of a late June day, lies a schooner fast

to her anchor beneath the first quarter moon.

 

The softness of the scene mesmerizes me

and I imagine I can hear the rigging softly

click and ring against the swaying masts.

 

I quietly breathe in time to the gently

breaking surf. The nearby sounds of the Fiesta

are dampened by my meditation;

I am drawn into the temple of the harbor.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

Nearly Every Day

 

Nearly every day I wander about

with camera in hand (attached like some odd

prosthetic device) trying to capture

the seconds that constitute my life.

 

It’s as if by snapping the shutter I

assure myself that nothing will change;

the people and places I see and freeze

in time will always be here and I will always

 

be unseen, but still be part of the whole

of this marvelous place discovered so late.

And those who tend their shops or perfect their art;

who play with their kids and fix and serve our meals,

 

or prepare their boats for long hauls at sea;

and those who repair our roads, connect our phones,

keep the peace and douse our errant fires and

those who find joy on the water; all those who don’t see me

 

as I observe them from the docks and corners

and the doorways as I walk  the town

make their lives part of my own and allow

their moments to mingle and merge with mine.

 

I put my camera to my eye and for one

fraction of a second a silhouette and I are one,

sharing that brief instant, caught forever

in a world that will never change.

 

© Marty Luster 2012

 

 

 

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