The Poet's Corner...

FOGHORNS

The boy was used to it
  waking up to the sound of foghorns
There was the high-pitched Screee
  and the baritone BEE-oh
It was amazing how the sound carried
  from way out on the bay
  but he knew that was the point.

He pictured a Coast Guard ensign
  stationed at the lighthouse
  at the mouth of Mare Island Strait
Bundled up in his pea coat and watch cap
  binoculars around his neck
  checking the visibility
  deciding when to turn on the foghorns.

He pictured a harbor pilot
  guiding a Navy ship
  through San Pablo Bay
  on its way to the shipyard
Or a merchant vessel loaded with sugar cane
  headed for the refinery at Crockett.

The pilot would listen for the foghorns
  and direct the helmsman
  to turn away from danger
He pictured himself
  as that ensign or that pilot
  guiding the great ships home.

Some people said the Screee and the BEE-oh
  were lonely sounds
  but he never thought of them that way
  because someone was out there standing watch
They made the boy feel safe.
_____


SEASONS OF LIFE

It has been a cruel season,
too many losses, too many funerals
too many times to face the shovel
waiting to cover another coffin.

Then again, we’re at that age
as are those we love
the matriarchs, the patriarchs,
the very foundation of our lives.

My great nephew, barely one year old
lets loose a happy shriek
a cry that says, “I’m HERE, and it’s GRAND,
and I will NOT be denied!”

God bless him
in all his beautiful blue-eyed wonder
for reminding us of dividends delivered,
that Life renews and goes rolling on.
_____