American Lights

Names on a map,
Hidden dangers,
Imagination conjuring them
Somewhere between
The seas’ scouring
And landfall’s edge.

Pamlico Bay; Cape Hatteras.

American lights
Stand proud and tapered
On brick and stone bases
Flashing warnings
Over beaches, lakeshores, seaways,
Over all the great waters.

Sabine River; Point Bolivar.

Among the sea lanes of Maine
Between islands, rocks, shingle banks,
Lighthouses, like houses,
Are poised on headlands.

Cuckold's Light,  Burnt Island.

On the Great Lakes,
Harbours and passages,
Erie, Huron, Michigan,
With guardians and beacons,
Guide the little ships home.

South Bass Island; Vermilion.

So protection
Tall by day and beaming
Through the midnight hours
Tells of unseen shallows
Points of rock, the earth's crust itself
In wait for wallowing hulls
Just beneath the waves.

Yaquina Bay; Desdemona Sands.

Way out west where
The Rockies tumble to the sea.
An Oregon shore
Hard and salted
Feels the Pacific’s beat
And big lights stand,
Like the Pillars of Hercules.

Heceta Head; Warrior Light.

Atlantis lies half a world away.

© BH 2015

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A slack day. Time hangs heavy. This is what you get when despite having things to do, there’s snatches of time between. First I Googled ‘Hatteras’. The rest led me to this poem. 

Reminds me of a cartoon I did years ago. ‘A Gendarme Boiling Milk in His Hat’ it was. The sub-caption, in French, read ‘Cet dessin a commencé a`… et fini à…’ with the first and last pencil marks reproduced. I’ll post in time. If I can find it.

The photo is the light at Point Bolivar. I took it myself. From a speeding car.