BZ Niditch- Three Poems

AT THE BEACH

Off Cape Cod

near Wellfleet Bay

on a bitterly windy cold day

with high tide seen

at the sandy beach

where native Americans

first met the Pilgrims

from England to New England

who reached out to them

offering food

as they sang their hymns

today hundreds of turtles

have lost their way

from the Gulf of Mexico

moving north to New England

over the gulf stream

and close to a death trap

by the cold waters

have washed along the shore

as a couple of good souls

local sons and daughters

are on a mercy mission

to spare them in a triage

from frozen extinction

and dehydration

who travel to the Boston

Aquarium facility

in a miraculous airlift

in helicopters

in giant banana boxes

of emergency care

as a poet dreams this night

of young endangered creatures

not in despair on the beach

but within our hands

with difficulty to reach

the many turtles who survive

being buried in the sea

riding the blue waves

to rise among the reeds.

ELEMENTS

An international poet

takes his niece

on school vacation

up to the Metropolitan

to view Gauguin,

Rothko and Matisse,

outside are April winds

as flakes of white have fallen

with a fringed snow resting

upon trees to be unveiled for us

but this twilight 

we are fugitives

walking by long aisles

of fine landscapes and statues

along walls of contained art

with a wise style and structure

certain as we ourselves

brush by

a Michelangelo drawing 

curtained for us 

as an accomplice to find

in the sculptured intelligence

and depth at each 

intriguing station

situated in our minds

reaching upon

pedestals of civilization

created and incarnated forever

from outlined

thresholds of culture

we find explanations

of the painters

and their elements 

of recognition

communicating from

our enlightened past

granted to us 

this exploration's morning

as formidable color 

development rises to shape 

a parting explanation

through our honorable

kindly watch list

in a universe

through others' eyes.

THURSDAY IN APRIL

Sunshine threads

us as dandelions appear

intoxicated by the new season

on the high fields

over the grassland golf course

at my daily walk

down blue hills

carrying my notebook

and archive diary

with a Rouault clown cover

in a border of remembrance

observing the clouds departure

as morning birds bend down

over branches of birches

wishing my patch of earth

heeding a new

embroidered spring

to console and absorb us

hearing the waves 

off the Cape

splashed by

new rain at waterfalls

in the distance to be destined

to stay alive as a wordsmith

as flower petals may be awaking

erasing our light 

lost insomnia

on edge at our loneliness

waiting for nature

 to disguised itself

with quivering 

ripened oranges

curled and tangled on a tree

bordered by tiny squirrels

near a reunion of leaves,twigs

and witnessing woodland ferns

taking my oars in my hands

on my anchored kayak

by the house iron fence

to my germinating

singular voice

guided by blushing 

rose bushes

under the first 

wounding light.