Sandy
A bird outside
standing on the sill
of the window
to my study
pecking at the glass
at her reflection
and her view
inside
of my world
Small
brown
speckled
gentle
determined
she’s been doing this
for hours
doesn’t understand
that what she sees
is not really there
nor that
she can’t come in
I sit at my desk
this warm spring morning
begin a major
office cleanup project
long overdue
going through drawers
starting with the one
closest to the window
and my persistent visitor outside
pull things
to toss or at least
put back
in organized
useable fashion
Nag Champa incense
soft sweet sensual
its aroma strong
even just sitting there
in a long delicate box
near staples clips
two-hole folder inserts
shiny metal
flat waiting
to be used
next to
my old business card holder
worn dark brown leather
soft rounded edges
cards from my working life
I go through them
recognize names
a few
when and how
they were presented to me
pause at one
thick and classy
soft ivory color
embossed border
raised royal blue letters
remember the name
her name
stop and hold her card
for a moment that
then holds
stops time
Back to that day when we met
at a conference in New York
happened to be next to each other
at the same long
hotel meeting room table
we both were late
sat near the back
we talked for a bit
during the coffee break
standing by the tall windows
of the large foyer hall
looking down on 6th Avenue
she’d come in from Connecticut
her car wouldn’t start
got the last parking spot
at Greenwich station
and then her train was delayed
She was an investment banker
been with her firm
on Wall Street
for a few years
needed this conference
seminar series
on management
a fluffy human-relations one
that I needed too
needed this break
to learn
be lectured to anyway
about finding
holding keeping
care connection with colleagues
in our heavy high-finance world
She and I had lunch together
box-lunch sandwiches
tuna on sliced sourdough
chips brownies
paired with Perrier
she was smart
knew a lot
obviously succeeding in her job
funny articulate
she listened
as did I
we both were at that point
where our careers and work
were set
trajectory upward
and now we wanted more
or in a way to take less
go back to when it all began
to when we were less consumed
more open free happy
that kind of happiness
when everything is new
filled with promise
the possibility freedom
of a world not yet entered
We sat there in gentle sunshine
on the edge of a large long granite planter
filled with golden daffodils and red tulips
an open plaza
big wide white marble steps
traffic streaming by
and laughed
talked
as if
we’d known each other
for a long time
which in a way was the case
in that time seemed to stop
for us
for that hour
until we had to go back
resume the conference
take notes
have another coffee break
exchange cards
wrap up say good bye
she to hurry
get to Grand Central
catch her train
back to Greenwich
her husband and her little girl
me to return
to my room in the hotel
make some calls
to the West Coast
my office
that world in San Francisco
from which I have now retired
and sit here this morning
sorting through these old cards
next to my box of incense
I hold hers for a while longer
read again her
name title
company
address
2 World Trade Center
South Tower
90th Floor
Suite 90800
From which they never made it
her whole firm
I remember reading
back when the building came down
Remember it all again now
and recall
the photo I saw
in the paper
the next day
September 12
cars left at Greenwich station
their owners never coming home
I pause
put the card back
in my old leather holder
return it to the drawer
and look up
out the window
past my big old oak
down to the valley
this morning’s sun
shining fresh on
spring oaks and buckeye
by the river
Close my eyes
rest
quiet
still
let the tears come slowly
and in the silence
listen to the sound
of her laughter her voice
Hear too
after a while
the quiet
gentle
tapping
of that little bird
my visitor
seeing herself
in the glass
seeing my world
wanting
it seems
to come in
through
the window
a window
that is closed
though
and cannot
ever
for her
be open
Haiku Benediction
Cold front moving in
Alaska rain on the way
windy dark outside
Draw myself a bath
light my lavender candle
switch off the main light
Adjust to the dark
turn on my iPhone playlist
Hildegard’s soft chants
Slowly get undressed
hang my work clothes on the door
let go of the day
Close my eyes and slip
gently into the water
steaming hot and deep
Rain bursts and chatters
strong hard against the window
chanting rises too
Sisters of Mercy
giving blessed grace to me
lying safe dark warm
The candle flickers
its light playing on the wall
scent filling the room
Eyes closed in prayer
give my thanks for the moment
tears quietly flowing
Miracle of love
in which I’m quietly held this
cold dark winter night
SS “Canberra”
Indian Ocean October 1964
Heading
South southeast
Into the force of the storm
plowing the waves
slicing
them up and over the bow
turmoil green white foam
flooding
washing the decks
pouring
swirling around
the hatches
battened tight
all rigging secured
engines half full
just enough
to keep control
our movement
through dark
unwelcoming seas
I am up on the top deck
below and forward of the bridge
leaning against the railing
bracing riding
rising falling
with the ship
as she pushes her way
forward
my leg tightened
around a post
that supports the soft smooth
silver grey teak
of the railing
on which I rest my elbows
use one hand to cover my camera
the other to photograph
the spectacle
of force
my ship
the sea
will against will
ocean yielding
but not without a fight
We press on
forward
slowly
I get my pictures
turn to go inside
to the relief I’m sure
of the helmsman
looking down on me
from the bridge
I force open the door
step over the raised
water barrier sill
go down the passageway
down the stairs
to the forward lounge
Walking like the sailor
I have become
on this voyage
slowly steadily
riding with the movement
of the sea
the ship
the storm
not fighting
just moving
as her movement allows
No one is in the lounge
except a white-jacket steward
steadying himself by the counter
behind him
that has a pot of tea held
locked in place
in a well just its size
next to a similar one
smaller
with a picture of milk
He smiles
nods
asks if I’d like a cup
yes I reply
thank you
he pours
milk then tea
half full
hands me a couple
of biscuits
Arnott’s oatmeal
that he pulls from another well
on the counter
Then steadily gives me the tea
and a large
starched pure white
serviette
As I hang my camera
around my neck
take the cup
the serviette
the biscuits
and slowly
carefully
with steady confidence
rise and fall
zig and zag
my way to a lounge chair
anchored
facing
the forward windows
wall of light
emerald green
grey
soft white
as waves force against us
I sit
hold my afternoon tea
brace
ride this beautiful ship
lean forward
then back
with her
sip and chew
I am warm
safe
my belly is getting full
the tea
Darjeeling
sharpening my senses
already clear
I am alive
riding this storm
this afternoon
of adventure
strength
exhilaration
My voyage
this journey
this trip
to Australia
back home
to sunshine
springtime
summer’s prospect coming
Me
a good ship
master mariners
safe and dry
with a fine cup of tea
and biscuits
Robert Nielsen is a Carmel Valley poet, writer, photographer, and painter, and has segued into full-time art-making after practicing law for many years. Born in Australia, with roots also in New Zealand, Denmark, the British Isles, France, and Spain, he has lived, studied, worked, and traveled in a number of countries. His art is essentially narrative in nature, and reflects his perceptions, feelings, dreams and stories, and also his worldwide experiences. His poetry has appeared in various anthologies, journals, and other publications; his award-winning photographs have been exhibited and included in public and private galleries and collections in the United States and other countries. He serves as a co-host of the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Monthly Reading Series. His website is at www.pilgrim-arts.com
A bird outside
standing on the sill
of the window
to my study
pecking at the glass
at her reflection
and her view
inside
of my world
Small
brown
speckled
gentle
determined
she’s been doing this
for hours
doesn’t understand
that what she sees
is not really there
nor that
she can’t come in
I sit at my desk
this warm spring morning
begin a major
office cleanup project
long overdue
going through drawers
starting with the one
closest to the window
and my persistent visitor outside
pull things
to toss or at least
put back
in organized
useable fashion
Nag Champa incense
soft sweet sensual
its aroma strong
even just sitting there
in a long delicate box
near staples clips
two-hole folder inserts
shiny metal
flat waiting
to be used
next to
my old business card holder
worn dark brown leather
soft rounded edges
cards from my working life
I go through them
recognize names
a few
when and how
they were presented to me
pause at one
thick and classy
soft ivory color
embossed border
raised royal blue letters
remember the name
her name
stop and hold her card
for a moment that
then holds
stops time
Back to that day when we met
at a conference in New York
happened to be next to each other
at the same long
hotel meeting room table
we both were late
sat near the back
we talked for a bit
during the coffee break
standing by the tall windows
of the large foyer hall
looking down on 6th Avenue
she’d come in from Connecticut
her car wouldn’t start
got the last parking spot
at Greenwich station
and then her train was delayed
She was an investment banker
been with her firm
on Wall Street
for a few years
needed this conference
seminar series
on management
a fluffy human-relations one
that I needed too
needed this break
to learn
be lectured to anyway
about finding
holding keeping
care connection with colleagues
in our heavy high-finance world
She and I had lunch together
box-lunch sandwiches
tuna on sliced sourdough
chips brownies
paired with Perrier
she was smart
knew a lot
obviously succeeding in her job
funny articulate
she listened
as did I
we both were at that point
where our careers and work
were set
trajectory upward
and now we wanted more
or in a way to take less
go back to when it all began
to when we were less consumed
more open free happy
that kind of happiness
when everything is new
filled with promise
the possibility freedom
of a world not yet entered
We sat there in gentle sunshine
on the edge of a large long granite planter
filled with golden daffodils and red tulips
an open plaza
big wide white marble steps
traffic streaming by
and laughed
talked
as if
we’d known each other
for a long time
which in a way was the case
in that time seemed to stop
for us
for that hour
until we had to go back
resume the conference
take notes
have another coffee break
exchange cards
wrap up say good bye
she to hurry
get to Grand Central
catch her train
back to Greenwich
her husband and her little girl
me to return
to my room in the hotel
make some calls
to the West Coast
my office
that world in San Francisco
from which I have now retired
and sit here this morning
sorting through these old cards
next to my box of incense
I hold hers for a while longer
read again her
name title
company
address
2 World Trade Center
South Tower
90th Floor
Suite 90800
From which they never made it
her whole firm
I remember reading
back when the building came down
Remember it all again now
and recall
the photo I saw
in the paper
the next day
September 12
cars left at Greenwich station
their owners never coming home
I pause
put the card back
in my old leather holder
return it to the drawer
and look up
out the window
past my big old oak
down to the valley
this morning’s sun
shining fresh on
spring oaks and buckeye
by the river
Close my eyes
rest
quiet
still
let the tears come slowly
and in the silence
listen to the sound
of her laughter her voice
Hear too
after a while
the quiet
gentle
tapping
of that little bird
my visitor
seeing herself
in the glass
seeing my world
wanting
it seems
to come in
through
the window
a window
that is closed
though
and cannot
ever
for her
be open
Haiku Benediction
Cold front moving in
Alaska rain on the way
windy dark outside
Draw myself a bath
light my lavender candle
switch off the main light
Adjust to the dark
turn on my iPhone playlist
Hildegard’s soft chants
Slowly get undressed
hang my work clothes on the door
let go of the day
Close my eyes and slip
gently into the water
steaming hot and deep
Rain bursts and chatters
strong hard against the window
chanting rises too
Sisters of Mercy
giving blessed grace to me
lying safe dark warm
The candle flickers
its light playing on the wall
scent filling the room
Eyes closed in prayer
give my thanks for the moment
tears quietly flowing
Miracle of love
in which I’m quietly held this
cold dark winter night
SS “Canberra”
Indian Ocean October 1964
Heading
South southeast
Into the force of the storm
plowing the waves
slicing
them up and over the bow
turmoil green white foam
flooding
washing the decks
pouring
swirling around
the hatches
battened tight
all rigging secured
engines half full
just enough
to keep control
our movement
through dark
unwelcoming seas
I am up on the top deck
below and forward of the bridge
leaning against the railing
bracing riding
rising falling
with the ship
as she pushes her way
forward
my leg tightened
around a post
that supports the soft smooth
silver grey teak
of the railing
on which I rest my elbows
use one hand to cover my camera
the other to photograph
the spectacle
of force
my ship
the sea
will against will
ocean yielding
but not without a fight
We press on
forward
slowly
I get my pictures
turn to go inside
to the relief I’m sure
of the helmsman
looking down on me
from the bridge
I force open the door
step over the raised
water barrier sill
go down the passageway
down the stairs
to the forward lounge
Walking like the sailor
I have become
on this voyage
slowly steadily
riding with the movement
of the sea
the ship
the storm
not fighting
just moving
as her movement allows
No one is in the lounge
except a white-jacket steward
steadying himself by the counter
behind him
that has a pot of tea held
locked in place
in a well just its size
next to a similar one
smaller
with a picture of milk
He smiles
nods
asks if I’d like a cup
yes I reply
thank you
he pours
milk then tea
half full
hands me a couple
of biscuits
Arnott’s oatmeal
that he pulls from another well
on the counter
Then steadily gives me the tea
and a large
starched pure white
serviette
As I hang my camera
around my neck
take the cup
the serviette
the biscuits
and slowly
carefully
with steady confidence
rise and fall
zig and zag
my way to a lounge chair
anchored
facing
the forward windows
wall of light
emerald green
grey
soft white
as waves force against us
I sit
hold my afternoon tea
brace
ride this beautiful ship
lean forward
then back
with her
sip and chew
I am warm
safe
my belly is getting full
the tea
Darjeeling
sharpening my senses
already clear
I am alive
riding this storm
this afternoon
of adventure
strength
exhilaration
My voyage
this journey
this trip
to Australia
back home
to sunshine
springtime
summer’s prospect coming
Me
a good ship
master mariners
safe and dry
with a fine cup of tea
and biscuits
Robert Nielsen is a Carmel Valley poet, writer, photographer, and painter, and has segued into full-time art-making after practicing law for many years. Born in Australia, with roots also in New Zealand, Denmark, the British Isles, France, and Spain, he has lived, studied, worked, and traveled in a number of countries. His art is essentially narrative in nature, and reflects his perceptions, feelings, dreams and stories, and also his worldwide experiences. His poetry has appeared in various anthologies, journals, and other publications; his award-winning photographs have been exhibited and included in public and private galleries and collections in the United States and other countries. He serves as a co-host of the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Monthly Reading Series. His website is at www.pilgrim-arts.com