Tag: New England

TURNS, FROM THE PAGE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

1

once more, flipping a month, a year
another mountain, loon, lighthouse, tulip

markers of days and flowing

history or future encoded

as numerals, this imprecise bank ledger
with moon phases

occasionally with a comfort of knowing I’ve been there
or desire to go
or recollection of encountering what’s pictured

as for next month or next year
no matter how carefree
the intended journey or dreaming
some map or guiding is essential

unless we’re simply floating
and who knows, then

2

still, the clearest water remains a mask
moving, breathing
more than land

with the preponderance of life
on land, atop
in water, below

while the intertidal zones
open to interpretation

3

each tide
a page that turns back on itself

enigmas

a reminder of holy spaces
we enter rarely, if ever

point behind point
without end

 Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems, click here.

CLOCKING THE AGES

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments
At the rear of the great hall.
At the rear of the great hall.

The great speeches, lectures, and debates gracing Faneuil Hall over the years reflect the rise and advance of American liberty and democracy.

Boston is a rich and varied destination – the Hub of New England, or the Universe, as they used to say. Living a little more than an hour to the north, we’re well within its orb.

 

THIS MATTER OF HOME

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Our Advent readings last year have had me reflecting on the concept of home and how deeply we, as humans, yearn for such a place. Or should I say state of comfort.

It also has me admitting how elusive it’s been for me. Our childhood home was never truly comfortable, physically or emotionally. And in the moves afterward, I often felt more that I’d established a suitable base camp while anticipating the next leap forward. Home, in other words, was always over the horizon.

The closest I’d felt was the craftsman-style house we bought in the Rust Belt, but I knew I wouldn’t be living there forever. I was still building my resume, as the phrase goes, working my way up the management ladder.

More than three decades later, I’ve settled into a community that feels right, though I’m very much an outsider. At least, as far as a career goes, I’ve survived into retirement. As for the house? It’s been my address longer than any other, but somehow it still feels not quite solid. No amount of renovation will ever make it quite right, not with its leaky cellar and foundation. But it’s what I have and where I work at what I love to do. The garden’s in place, and then there’s the loft in my barn.

And then there’s family, with the kids now grown and housed elsewhere. Could it be home, then, is wherever my wife’s cooking? At least that points in a state of awareness direction.

As well as an underlying unsettled element in my own psyche.

~*~

My poems on the challenges of renovations, repairs, and relating as a husband are collected as Home Maintenance, a free ebook at Thistle/Flinch editions.