With us today is poet L E Barrett. Here is a little taste of his poetry and his views on the human condition.
THE
WITCHES OF NORTH HAVEN
A
dozen old pines
Standing
very erect
Thirty
feet or more
Prickly
hairy limbs
Seen
thru my pane
Reaching
out to me
Or
excitedly waving
To
get my attention
No
guardian Angels
This
witch’s brew
Who
often lash out
Inside
stormy spells
Then
turn Statuesque
As
if only onlookers
Intent
on a good view
At
the Tyburn gallows
I
have been noticing
In
circular formations
Clusters
of mushrooms
On
pine needle beds
With
ancient markings
Formed
by pine cones
That
could only arise
As
a gesture of sorts
Yet
they still fascinate
Give
credence to tales
Hinted
to by neighbors
Town
gossip they say
Those
potent specters
Inhabit
the grounds
Witches
of old roots
Seeded
in dark times
RAISE THE MAINE FLAG
Raise
the flag for those Maine boys
Who
thru rifle shot and steel blade
Stood
like blue granite in the fray
Boys
of rocky shores and thick forests
Betwixt
Kittery and the St John River
Uncommon
solders mustered to war
Engaged
in preserving a frail Union
Boys
of affable towns and isolated farms
With
their heads and banners held high
Common
men now nobles one and all
Raise
the flag for those Maine boys
Who
signed on to the 1st, 2nd, and 20th
Brave
souls that came to know the fight
Thru
Gettysburg, Petersburg and Newtonia
Every
man tested time after time by shot
All
too many to find a permanent rest
Under
a canopy of wooden white crosses
In
fields with moss covered granite ledges
Hearts
looking back to a state they love
Raise
the flag for those Maine boys
Wave
it proudly and as high as you can
So those same Maine boys can see
That
they are still our Maine boys.
THE FIDDLEHEAD
After
an abundance of frigid snow and slippery icy roads
Where
often a hearth and fire act as a night’s beacon
As
seen through frosty panes with large white brows
To
snow encrusted children and fretful evening trekkers
Oh
fiddle me a delectable tune with savory harmonies
Let
a tasty lick with a respondent chord stay upon my palate
I
love the music your tightly strung notes have awakened in me
For
now I find I have an appetite for spring and summer too
Morning
air still laced with the chill of a winter’s backside
Streams
roaring with laughter as they escape their banks
Birds
chirping as if they have not seen their neighbors in a while
Frosty
morning sunshine as dazzling as light through stained glass
Oh
fiddle me a delectable tune with savory harmonies
Let
a tasty lick with a respondent chord stay upon my palate
I
love the music your tightly strung notes have awakened in me
For
now I find I have an appetite for spring and summer too
I
know the spot near to the stream at the edge of the marsh
Where
I ponder another years passing and another beginning
Where
the damp earth laden with debris smells of potential life
As
the crowns of fiddleheads emerge to take their rightful thrones
Oh
fiddle me a delectable tune with savory harmonies
Let
a tasty lick with a respondent chord stay upon my palate
I
love the music your tightly strung notes have awakened in me
For
now I find I have an appetite for spring and summer too.
I DREAM IN MAINE
I
dream in Maine,
Of
rosy red sunrises over the crests of rock-strewn shores
Splinters
of light straining through stands of pine and birch
Dusk
blanketing fields with loping deer and placid moose
I
dream in Maine,
As
the sound and motion of a Manhattan Street envelops me
In
combat as I lay my weapon down and listen to the stillness
In
endless rooms, bars, hotels, and where ever I meet strangers
I
dream in Maine,
Of
the mouths of rivers derived from streams down granite ledges
Huge
lakes and small ponds surrounded by bush filled floating bogs
Lush
green or multicolored hills with sweeping valleys dotted with farms
I
dream in Maine,
At
sporting events and concerts or whenever I share a glass with friends
On
subways, buses, planes or cars with “Muddy Waters” on my radio
And
Dear, even as I make love to you in the late hours of the night
I
dream in Maine,
Of
the smell of clam flats, apple orchards, campfires and pine needle beds
Cold
snow on brimming shovels and giant snow piles aging beside the road
Gritty
sand on my legs and as the chilly ocean’s tongue begins to lick my feet
I
dream in Maine,
Not
of people or events or concerns that consume me and my daily journey
But
instead as a picturesque back drop for the seeding of all my dreams
A
place radiating out of my soul and hidden behind my eyes, that I call Maine.
HALLOWELL QUARRY
Drove
the old Ford out to the quarry
Sat
on a rock shelf in the desolation
Looked
down into the dark water
Sensed
the silence of the moment
Then
as if delivered out of myself
Heard
the shrieks of young voices
Coming
back to me from times past
Summers
when I shielded my eyes
From
the sun reflecting off the water
Boys
alive in tanned muscular frames
Brown
girls showing splotches of color
Recalling
the endless acts of heroes
As
youths leaped from high perches
Chiseled
ledges down to the big chill
As
icy waters drank freely our heat
Still
feeling the water’s hard knock
As
it rushed up to greet me as I fell
Lazy
days of drying on granite ledges
With
music and talk all around me
Detecting
love’s bloom in every act
All
of us totally free and alive in time
Unaware
of life forces outside of us
Disposed
to create new worlds for us
In
the Ford as I pull onto the dirt road
I
am keenly aware of where it all went
My
Current Books
I currently have three books on sale through Amazon
and Kindle; a collection of 63 poems ‘The
Maine Poetic’, a collection of 13
short stories ‘A View From the Side of
the Road’ and a new play called ‘The
Shadow of the Soul’ which I hope to produce as a live play in the next
year. I have recently completed with two other people a book on Maine’s iconic
fiddlehead called ‘Fiddlemainia’
which includes pictures, a comprehensive narrative and 125 fiddlehead recipes
which will be published this winter by Goose River Press in Waldoboro, Maine. I
plan to publish another large collection of poetry in February 2014 called ‘Verses From Beneath Granite Ledges. Hopefully,
I can follow up last year's writing projects with four or five major writing
projects in 2014.
My
Themes
First and foremost, I consider myself a Maine writer
and though I tend towards the esoteric at times, I am grounded in a people and
an environment that affects all my writing. Even in my short stories, I strive
to find the universal elements of the human condition as seen from my unique
background. In my poetry, I approach it from the perspective of a storyteller
with an awareness that I need to wrap the poem up with a clarifying ending. My
poetry comes to me as a complete thought that I later tailor to give as much
meaning to the poem as I can. I feel sometimes poets become overly concerned
about structure, grammar and style and fail to achieve the impact they
envisioned with their poems. For me it is always concept, meaning and style. If
it blurs the lines between styles of poetry or looks like an oddly presented
poem, it still works for me. If just a word or two or phrase generates in the
reader the emotion and feeling I am trying to generate, I have accomplished my
role as a poet.
Poet Bio
The road began for me in Hallowell, Maine. It has taken me
several times around the world. I grew up in a remarkably small Maine city on a
river, at a young age I became a Marine in Vietnam, I eventually had both a
military and government career, I fathered three sons, received a Bachelor’s Degree
from Northeastern University in Boston, MA and a Masters Degree from the
University of Maine in Orono, ME. All along the road, I wrote, I thought, and I
wrote some more. So that before my days drain away, I will have said what I came
here to say.
Website: http://lebarrett.com/
Books:
