At Volcán Arenal
Afternoon showers sprinkle over lakeside,
shafts of light reflect the visible spectrum of arco-íris,
as our guide Luis drives us to Volcán Arenal
in rural Costa Rica. A washed-out road
snakes around Lake Arenal.
We navigate through forest littered with fallen trees,
arriving at the base of the barren volcano,
its top made invisible by low clouds.
We hear a deep rumble,
followed by a clatter of rocks tumbling.
From a safe vantage point
we hear the explosive release of gases
see a stream of fiery liquid rock
spill down the side of the dark cone.
As night falls, a dark rainforest skirt
clothes the base of the volcano. It is then
we are delighted by a courtship ritual of fireflies,
thousands of insect lanterns flickering,
undisturbed by volcanism violence.
"Luciérnagas," whispers our guide.
In the Presence of the Moai
You cast your shadow over me,
blocking noon day subtropical rays.
A dark figure still unfinished,
you face away from the quarry of volcanic tuff,
surrounded by unstable red earth,
anchored by lupine, grass, thistle and wild rose.
Your broad face towers over my head
as I look up into wide nostrils, past thin lips
that once protruded from your flat face.
Encrusted with white lichens, you are bathed
in salt air, borne on soft breezes
flowing over Isla de Pasqua.
Your arms, confined by soil,
end in finely sculpted fingers, buried.
Pendulous ears extend down sides
of your face, lack adornment, hear nothing.
Empty eye sockets await sclerae of coral,
pupils of obsidian or red scoria.
Basalt tools lie dormant,
no one there to complete the job.
The Rapa Nui claim you moved by mana
to your final ahu where you faced your village.
Well regarded, you are a reminder of ancestors.
Instead, unfinished, you stand
with me, offering shade and awe,
while time changes us both.
CODA: Mana is a vital force of knowledge, wisdom, and source of energy that engenders strength.
Lynn M. Hansen is a retired Modesto Junior College professor of marine biology. She is a member of the Ina Coolbrith Circle, Orinda, CA., a charter member of the Modesto Stanislaus Poetry Center and past president of National League of American Pen Women, Modesto Branch. Her work reflects her sense of place and art of story-telling. She enjoys gardening with native plants, photography, cooking and writing. With her husband Richard Anderson she has traveled to all five continents and enjoys adventures in different cultural realms. In 2013 a collection of her poems was published by Quercus Review Press entitled Flicker, Poems by Lynn M. Hansen. Her most recent publication, March of 2022 is an historical novel about her maternal grandmother entitled Journey to Sky Avenue: The Life of Mernie Daisy Lewis (1882-1963).
Afternoon showers sprinkle over lakeside,
shafts of light reflect the visible spectrum of arco-íris,
as our guide Luis drives us to Volcán Arenal
in rural Costa Rica. A washed-out road
snakes around Lake Arenal.
We navigate through forest littered with fallen trees,
arriving at the base of the barren volcano,
its top made invisible by low clouds.
We hear a deep rumble,
followed by a clatter of rocks tumbling.
From a safe vantage point
we hear the explosive release of gases
see a stream of fiery liquid rock
spill down the side of the dark cone.
As night falls, a dark rainforest skirt
clothes the base of the volcano. It is then
we are delighted by a courtship ritual of fireflies,
thousands of insect lanterns flickering,
undisturbed by volcanism violence.
"Luciérnagas," whispers our guide.
In the Presence of the Moai
You cast your shadow over me,
blocking noon day subtropical rays.
A dark figure still unfinished,
you face away from the quarry of volcanic tuff,
surrounded by unstable red earth,
anchored by lupine, grass, thistle and wild rose.
Your broad face towers over my head
as I look up into wide nostrils, past thin lips
that once protruded from your flat face.
Encrusted with white lichens, you are bathed
in salt air, borne on soft breezes
flowing over Isla de Pasqua.
Your arms, confined by soil,
end in finely sculpted fingers, buried.
Pendulous ears extend down sides
of your face, lack adornment, hear nothing.
Empty eye sockets await sclerae of coral,
pupils of obsidian or red scoria.
Basalt tools lie dormant,
no one there to complete the job.
The Rapa Nui claim you moved by mana
to your final ahu where you faced your village.
Well regarded, you are a reminder of ancestors.
Instead, unfinished, you stand
with me, offering shade and awe,
while time changes us both.
CODA: Mana is a vital force of knowledge, wisdom, and source of energy that engenders strength.
Lynn M. Hansen is a retired Modesto Junior College professor of marine biology. She is a member of the Ina Coolbrith Circle, Orinda, CA., a charter member of the Modesto Stanislaus Poetry Center and past president of National League of American Pen Women, Modesto Branch. Her work reflects her sense of place and art of story-telling. She enjoys gardening with native plants, photography, cooking and writing. With her husband Richard Anderson she has traveled to all five continents and enjoys adventures in different cultural realms. In 2013 a collection of her poems was published by Quercus Review Press entitled Flicker, Poems by Lynn M. Hansen. Her most recent publication, March of 2022 is an historical novel about her maternal grandmother entitled Journey to Sky Avenue: The Life of Mernie Daisy Lewis (1882-1963).
