Page 816 of 820

Posted on

A Tall Friend in Florida

by Marshall Jamison

Uninvited but not unwelcome, the tall blue Heron
We call a friend dropped by,
Circled over us once or twice and landed, stiff-legged
Out of the afternoon sky.
He is a popular visitor who comes often for
His lake shore snacks
Of frogs, toads, wriggling water snakes, which
With evident pleasure, he attacks.

But best of all, the fare he seems to truly savor
Are fat bass, small and tender and rich in flavor.

For you see, his gourmet taste has made me
A believer too
And so now when I can catch a batch or even
Only one or two,
I swallow them quickly as I’ve seen him do.

Oh, not raw but boiled, fried or brewed
Swimming in a bubbling stew.

A fine fish dinner, these bass are in a class
Without compare,
So if one day you’d care to share
The lake’s largess with us,
Hop a plane, grab a train, perhaps a Greyhound bus
Even an Indian canoe could bring you too.

We’re almost sure that if you do arrive
The tall blue Heron will greet you
With a fishy welcome
And a very high five.

Posted on

A Maine Summer Day

by Marshall Jamison

It was the kind of day if you were fishing or hunting or haying
You thanked the Good Lord for, not quite, but kinda like praying.
In the distant sky to the South an eagle flew, soaring high
Against the sun
And in the bay a school of tinker mackerel surfaced for
A frantic run.

At our camp the tide was almost high and so were the two
Who pulled their skiff towards our shore,
Awash in salt water and empty bottles
Of what had been Feigenspan beer, and a tubful
Of mackerel or more.

The bigger of the two men, wearing heavy overalls and
Tall rubber boots stood up to drain the dregs of
A bottle of gin.

He staggered as the little boat rolled on the tide,
Still coming in,
And before he could regain his frantic balance
He yelled, took a drunken step or two as if in a
Crazy dance
And fell full length over the side, hitting his head
On an empty oarlock
Then sank out of sight like a huge, heavy, insensate rock.

His partner screamed hoarsely, “He can’t swim” and
Drunkenly threw a loose oar after him.

I, with my customary swift response to danger or
Emergency stood transfixed, wide-eyed, grim.

But my buddy, Jimmy Mack, without a word dove
Into the frightening swirling flood.

Searching quickly below the surface he came up
Empty, pale, face drained of blood.

A deep, deep breath and down again under the boat
He swam without a sign of fear.

The prayer I’d saved that morning was now
Answered loud and clear!

For suddenly out of the briny dark sea water
I saw two heads appear!

And grabbing the line I threw to him
Jim Hauled the big drunk out and onto shore.

Where gasping and crying, belching and retching
He swore to us he’d drink no more.

Later his partner too swore off the booze
Since they’d drunk all they had
He had little to lose.

We let them go easy with only this rub
We asked for and got half the mackerel in the tub
So in our own way, we too, went fishing that day!

Posted on

InciDentally

by Marshall Jamison

Just down the long block from storied Harvard Square
In a tired old building, up a well worn stair
Practiced a dentist my trusting mother thought was great
But at eight, I withheld even skeptical approval until
perhaps a later date.
He pointed out to my mother and me, pridefully, that
right across the street
Stood the Widener Library, pride of Harvard’s true elite.

The overwhelming edifice seemed to almost reach the sky.
Brick, cement and mortar filled my wide and staring eye
When I sat shivering in his ancient patient’s chair.
Nervous, suspicious, alarmed and hating to be there.

So for a dozen years or so this fumbling, well-meaning chap
tried to improve our relationship
As he drilled, filled and cemented in my mouth with
only an occasional slip.

Then came the day when he greeted me with a sly, dry
but excited grin
And reported the startling news to me, Your wisdom
teeth have at last grown in!
He continued with these excited shouts, You know,
my boy, you’ll have to have those extremely long fangs out!

That’s when I should have recalled my early boyhood’s
doubt!

Instead, six months of unending pain, a very, hurtful
bout
Until that lout finally pulled and pulled and got those molars out!

I wondered when I got his total, final charge for the
very rough and tough extraction
Why it had taken so long for me to remember my (very)
first gut reaction!

So now no more ancient dentist chair, no more
the Widener view!

Even my mother now agrees those things we will
eschew!

Posted on

Doughnuts!

by Marshall Jamison

Missus Eaton made doughnuts for breakfast
For Oren and me. I loved her doughnuts
And so did he.
Oren was a big man, a sailing man,
Just home from the sea,
And I was a tad who climbed on his knee.
Between us two, who ate the most?
Well, after a dozen or more —
He had French Toast!

Posted on

Dreams

Dreams are okay
as long as they pay.

Posted on

The Rich Man

That man is rich
who has a scratch
for every itch.

Posted on

One Day in Harvard Yard

by Marshall Jamison

At about ten years of age or so, I heard Robert Frost
recite his poetry aloud
for what, it seemed to me to be a most attentive
and respectful crowd
in Harvard Yard, a meeting place of those who
search for knowledge,
the brick-lined mecca that surrounds much of
Harvard College.
He read quickly without emphasis that might
have been revealing
and his words belied emotion which I thought
he must be feeling.

Continue reading → One Day in Harvard Yard