Lyme Regis by Nils Peterson

Lyme Regis
Low tide. Small boats, masts hugger-mugger,
slumping in mud flats. Gray water slopping
against the far jetty. On breakwater, canon wait
for the French. If I waited, tide would return
from wherever, boats would right themselves,
their masts pointing to heaven – something to hang a sail to.
St. Ives
strong wind, rain, thrash
of leaf, branch, creak
of stiff cedars bending
gray mist hiding harbor,
I at a window drinking coffee
wanting dragon boats
from the North, fierce
red-bearded men. Shopkeepers
would flee to the hills then,
live with the Druids,
pile up great stones, pray.


BIO:Nils Peterson is Professor Emeritus at San Jose State University. He has published poetry, science fiction, a memoir entitled Talk in the Reading Room, and articles on subjects as varied as golf and ShakespeareIn 2009, he was chosen as the first Poet Laureate of Santa Clara County.


Photos from Wikipedia, under a free to use license.

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