LOU MARIN - POEMS

Lou Marin was born and raised in the western hills of Maine, then spent 20 plus years wandering the country and world in the United States Air Force. He is a photographer, published poet and short story writer who now also pens faith based devotionals. He lives in Rumford, Maine. His five poetry anthologies, published by Publish America and entitled,  Awash With Words, Old Waves, New Beaches, Whisper of Waves, and Sea To Shining Sea, Version 1 and 2, are available in print and online.
 
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​Diner

​Arizona, hot afternoon,
tearing apart the Interstate,
Time to take a break
from miles of shimmering desert highway.
Six hours at high speed
makes the eyes tired.
Not a McDonald's to be seen
in the last 200 miles.
 
Emily and I
stop at Hopi Kiva Cafe
outside Phoenix.
The only white faces
smart enough to dare the local menu
were met with friendliness
and eagerness to accept
tourist dollars.
 
Climb out of the car stretching,
back and neck popping,
squinting and sun baking,
we wander into
air conditioned gloom.
Mmmm, spicy pepper
cooking smells.
 
Kid menu and whatever
the pretty native girl
with the round smiling face
recommended sounded good
as we quickly dined.
 
 
 
 
Dad can we go into the gift shop?
Activity books and more car fun stuff,
Dream Catcher, a bit of turquoise,
coloring books and crayons
dug into my wallet.
I attempted a smile,
as I give money to
the decidedly non-native
grouchy, slouchy teen
with the "Here to Help"
pin on her apron.
 
Emily climbs on top of
an outdoor dining table
for a picture in front of
poorly done reproductions of
Hopi demigods,
before we strap back in
and turn up air conditioning.
 
Arizona, late afternoon.
we were tearing back up an Interstate on-ramp.
We broke east into 400 miles
of shimmering desert highway.
Six more hours at high speed
kept smiles on our faces.
Emily and I recounted dinner
and shopping,
before admitting to being tired.

​Dancing With No Shoes

​I am sure my mama had shoes,
but I don't remember her
ever wearing them when
I was a young child.
I do remember her dancing
and telling us about things
like the Charleston
and her and daddy
doing the Rumba together.
 
Those days are
like a dream to me,
her bare feet shuffling
and stepping across
the old worn kitchen linoleum,
as the old record player
scratched out Big Band 1940's.
Sometimes she would bend
and do the twist.
 
These thoughts bring a tear.
Only me and mama know why.
I feel selfish and lazy
knowing she went without
so I could have
shoes for school.
I turn up my stereo loud
and dance barefoot.
I hope she knows I am thankful.
 

​Dancing With My Shadow

​Miss Eva's pipe tobacco smoke is thick in the air.
The tea kettle whistles from the small kitchen.
"Listen boy, here comes the six-fifteen.
It always whistles at the crossing in Hartford."
"Clackity-clack, clickety-clack"
comes the heat in the radiator
of her retirement apartment.
We sit and dream of days past.
 
Miss Eva lived by the railroad tracks
for sixty years before her family
moved her to Florida with other retirees,
to slowly decay in a tenement thirty stories high.
A tear slowly traverses the wrinkled face.
"Things were better when I was a girl.
I had family and friends who came to visit."
 
I wonder what she did before I was forced
into weekly visits as part of my probation.
I wonder if she danced with the shadows
she tells me keep beckoning her
onto the narrow window ledge and to freedom.
"Come closer" they say.
"We will free you from pain, old age, and loneliness."
 
Miss Eva's pipe tobacco smoke is thick in the air.
The tea kettle whistles from the small kitchen
"Listen boy, here comes the six fifteen.
It always whistles at the crossing in Hartford."
"Clickity-clack, clackity-clack," comes the heat
in the radiator of her retirement apartment.
We sit and dream of days past.

​Dad’s Day 2006

​It was Father's Day, I wasn't sure what to do.
I just wanted to spend the day with you.
We went to Pinkerton's pet store to shop for fish,
being with you is better than throw away kish,
and your hugs and kisses are the best gift too.
 
A few puppies and a stop to hold a lizard or two,
a look at the fancy tetras colored baby blue.
We finally picked out a few that were your wish.
It was Father's Day.
 
We started home, bidding the pet store adieu,
you helped me to make dinner, canned chicken stew.
Nothing could make the good feelings vanish,
and no bad thoughts could my smile banish.
A kiss and a hug when evening was through.
It was Father's Day.
 
 

​Country In My Soul

​I have been to Moron, Spain,
where the bull is still king,
To Vegas where gambling is my bane,
played cards, and listened to Elvis sing.
I'd trade them all for a walk in the country
and a quiet nap under an old oak tree.
 
I have been to southern cities:
New Orleans Mardi Gras crowds,
streets vibrant, floats and pretties;
Hard to see the sky with smog clouds.
I'd rather celebrate silence in the country
and have a quiet nap under an old oak tree.
 
I went to Los Angeles on a winter day.
A quick drive past Hollywood and glamour;
nothing there to make me want to stay.
I was scared of all the bustle and clamor.
I'd trade all the glitz for the country
and a quiet nap under an old oak tree.
 
When my sister made Omaha her home,
I spent two weeks kind of poking around, but it
was no place for a country boy to roam.
I had no liking for continuous sound.
I went to renew my soul in the country
and took a quiet nap under an old oak tree.