9/5/26-9/16/26
Philly to Quebec City
Boston, 9/7/26
America’s 250th Birthday
(Paul Revere’s Ride)
Published in Quill & Parchment, July 2026.
“A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.”*
From coast to coast, sea to shining sea.
“And a word that shall echo forevermore.”*
A strike, a lightening down to the core.
Resurrected from the dead; we are on our knees.
“A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.”
Bore the fate of the nation, he rode and roared;
a cry of alarm: “Wake up, wake up and see.”
“And a word that shall echo forevermore.”
Enemy already landed at the shore,
wave after wave, gathered around the quay.
“A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.”
Crisis? Turning point? A mortal pledge in store.
Clock is ticking; can you hear the uproar and plea?
“And a word that shall echo forevermore.”
Place our trust in the hands of the almighty Lord.
We implore forgiveness on bended knee.
“A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.”
“And a word that shall echo forevermore.”
*From the poem “Paul Revere’s Ride” by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Bar Harbor, 9/8/26
Ten and a Half Foot Tides
Published in Vistas & Byways, Fall 2024.
It must be quite exciting.
So many tourists checking your schedule,
time you rise, time you fall.
Following your agenda
down Bridge street, Bar Harbor,
by way of the trail
in the middle of the ocean to Bar Island,
like Moses took Israelites through the Red Sea.
Time and again, you hold onto your principle.
Such a vigorous ritual.
How did you find time to sleep and wake in time?
Wrapping up your prayers in Matins
as you come to change the world.
Washing away all the footprints of yesterday,
layer by layer,
like adding blanket in the cold night,
a councilor,
one conferring one sheet.
Synchronizing every part of you,
lifting all tides to reach the same height as before,
deep enough to cover up whatever happened
in the prior act.
Like a staging director
manages to change each setup;
young, old, babies, strollers,
very old, wheelchairs,
shoes, no shoes, sandals, flip-flops…
swamped in the summer heat.
In the cold snowy winter,
no one comes.
No matter,
you are always ready for the next act.
Nap before Vespers,
summon Moses to move the ocean aside,
exposing the trail to Bar Island.
Every time I am tired and exhausted,
I love to dream…
sitting on the rock of that tiny terrace,
in between town and trail,
overlooking all the work
you had to pull off.
Day in day out,
act or no act.
Once again
I’m prepared to unearth
the magic of my daily humdrum.
Out of dream, I’ll dance.
St. John, 9/9/26
A Breathing Miracle
I have a friend
who sees beauty in everything.
Any trip,
he loads 20lb camera, lenses
in his backpack,
first.
Then, squeezes in
water bottle,
a warm-up layer,
in that order.
If there’s room left.
Once I turned around,
he disappeared.
His long lenses aimed at
a drowned duck
in the Reversing Falls Rapids.
“A Cormorant,” he shouted
without turning back.
He knew
question marks all over my face.
He loves that long neck,
keeps shooting into the water,
as though
he could see
a fish was caught in the dive
and struggling.
Another time,
I walked away from a tangled mass of brambles,
he stayed behind.
I wonder what he saw that time?
Halifax, 9/10/26
The River Reaching the Sea
(Passing Titanic cemetery on the way to Peggy’s Cove).
The first step is crucial.
Go through the wrong door.
The light is dark.
So is the last step.
The door is not your choice,
this time.
Save the clothes you wear;
socks, shoes.
Which one? What color?
When the moment comes.
My father will greet me in a small boat.
All I need is that sneaker
full of dirt.
He will have fishing poles,
all little gadgets:
hooks, sinkers, buoys, braided line, leaders…
And the ocean is not waiting,
just hop aboard.
“Don’t forget that white cap
and windbreaker,”
he’ll yell.
My mother is in the kitchen.
My favorite fish dish
I can smell.
She does not care what I wear,
just bring the same innocent smile.
Finish whatever she's cooking.
The day will come.
Nothing to carry.
Throw away everything.
Like Rose,
even the 56-carat
blue Heart of the Ocean.
Sydney, 9/11/26
Why Chase the Wind?
Will the same star be there
after I am gone?
If not,
I need to hurry looking up,
journal what I see every night.
Whatever winds want to tell me now,
will they continue to broadcast then?
If not,
I want to figure out the meaning
of every whisper,
every howl,
every shout
when they were at the highest speed,
rushing, squeezing out
message to me.
As I’m heading towards the destination,
it seems the star’s still shining,
so does wind’s calling.
I am more at peace now.
Even if I miss the scintillating
in the twinkling,
or the voice in the blowing.
Charlottetown, 9/12/26
The Cradle of Canada
One of the most gorgeous days,
in the fall of Charlottetown.
A chilly, windswept city.
Like the French Revolution,
inspired by
the American Revolution
against Britain.
A meeting of minds.
Incited by the civil war
down south led by Lincoln.
A warning, a threat.
Canada was born in 1864,
in the Province House.
Lies in the heart of old Charlottetown,
amid a forest of church spires:
St. Dunstan’s, St. Paul’s, St. Peter’s,
Trinity United, St. James…
A lot of prayers,
celebrating the birth of Canada.
Canada, we pray for you too!
Saguenay, 9/14/26
The River Stretches to the Horizon
One of North America’s great fjords.”
“How can it compare with
breathtaking
Norway’s fjord!!!”
The mountains are not as steep.
The river is too wide.
Wait! Just look ahead,
miles ahead.
Mountain is still high,
Saguenay River is tightening!
The whole ship is quiet, in peace.
The heart is not being squeezed,
threatened by the towering mountains,
narrowed by the narrowness
of the waterway.
Like Monet painted
“Sunrise, Soleil Levant.”
Hemingway wrote
“The Sun Also Rises.”
Here!
Saguenay Fjord.
Breath-Also-Taking!
Quebec City, 9/15/26
Where France Still Breathes
Born as a French settlement,
Quebec grew into the core of New France.
Even lost the war to Britain.
Empires, flags changed.
French soul remained
in this new world.
Upper town.
Lower town.
In the language,
in the stone walls,
in the churches,
in the people’s spirit,
in the wind, rain and snow,
in Chateau Frontenac,
and Saguenay fjord.
Quebec City is the heart.
St. Lawrence River, the artery.
Over the ocean,
waves propelling waves,
like mistake making mistake,
success brewing success.
A vast sea,
a big manufacturer,
forging headway:
defeats, triumphs,
failures, breakthroughs,
sadness, joy…
complaint, praise…
Infinite, endless…
Every country.
Every city.
Every person.
Has a story.