Cape poetry: Lashing out at gun violence; watching storms slice across the peninsula

There is a rawness to this month's poems, echoed both in the searing frustration over continued gun violence and the breath-taking awe of being in nature when it is showing its wintery wings.

Enjoy spending this time with your Cape Cod neighbors as they share their lives with columns of words, crafted just so to evoke not only images but emotions.

Cape Cod Poetry is a monthly feature of the Cape Cod Times, with poems chosen anonymously by a panel of published poets. If you would like to join the free contest, follow the directions at the end of this story. If your poem is selected, the prize is publication in print and on our website, capecodtimes.com, and bragging rights.

Melanie Gallo is a lifetime educator. She has led writing workshops and taught creative writing. She livesin West Barnstable.

Inspiration: I was teaching high school seniors in a small New Hampshire town, when Columbine changed our worldforever. My fearful students asked, “Where would we hide?" Sadly, hundreds of mass shootings later atmalls, churches, supermarkets and more schools, the question is not just where we will hide, but when will it end?

Again

By Melanie Gallo

Words fall from lips like

Fierce  Furious

Raindrops

Unspeakable       Massacre

Terrifying             Atrocity

Shattered            Heartbroken

Anguished

Outraged

GRIEF

There is no shelter

No place to hide

     Helpless

Hopeless

Thoughts?

Prayers?

In America

God is a Gun.

***

Isabelle Hoida is a palm reader and poet who lingers in Truro with her partner.

Inspiration: I wrote “Regurged” after a whale-watching trip in P-town. I popped a Dramamine beforehand, which made me drowsy. Under this dreamlike spell, I studied the whole gamut of creamy whale tummies, exposed human stomachs, chatty cameras, and gossipy birds and thought, “we are made of the same spiritual Legos.” Whales hold vast universal knowledge in their large bodies: reincarnation, immortality…eating eels — and I had to dive into it.

Regurged

By Isabelle Hoida

Luncheon seagulls spray

their hedonist squawks over

the belly of a whale feasting on eels.

Sharing stories, a capella feeding

on white-tinted mirage. Here we are bolstered by

an elastic bubble: white boat, sunscreen, wings,

all pulsating over blubber puddles

that stretch and spill.

All bodies convulse, P-town pictures,

Cameras light, clicking beaks,

Chasing the undulating packages of

wet flesh in the water.

The nose: an elephantine vagina

discharging its breathy fumes.

“It’s a vagina,” I keep whispering, giddied,

a place of birth, a smell of creation.

The boat pushes on, over oceanic

soup, over regurgitated bioplasmic

nutrients. The forms of algae and sun,

rebirthed as a whale. I know reincarnation

on the Cape as ocean spray absorbing

into my skin to be reused as thoughts logged

by water. This moment: regurged and gorged on by

the aquamarine inside me.

The woman hunching next

to us presents this stewing life principle.

Her esophagus twitches

and spills a colorful dimension

of herself into the sea. And the

whales, serene, sighing into each meal,

suck it up to share with

their many lunch guests.

***

Holly Dunlea lives in Sandwich.  Read more of her work at hollydunlea.com.

Inspiration: I love April on the Cape because of the daffodils that erupt along route 6A, a fitting preface to the dogwood and cherry trees that follow. I should ask about the origin of this yearly treat, but it's more fun to sit back and enjoy nature's spring break.

Roadside Daffodils

By Holly Dunlea

Yellow and white commune in groups

splashed along the roadside

like preppies dressed for a gala.

Their heads are raised shotglasses

to toast spring and pose

for a selfie ready for exposure.

After a fortnight carousing, shots

lay shattered in weeds and woods

then become potpourri scattered,

stems merged into switchgrass

that conceals bulbs reproducing,

preparation for next spring’s crop.

***

Jim Barker very recently migrated to and lives in South Yarmouth with his wife Jennifer.

Inspiration: The inspiration for the poem, Grand Winds on Gray's Beach, comes simply from a trip to Gray's Beach on a rather unpleasant, late fall, day. You could see across to Chapin and the winds off the bay were making for some rough surf. The gulls and terns seemed especially unhappy with the weather on that day.

Grand Winds on Gray's Beach

By James Barker

A cold and blustery southeaster rolled in from across the bay,straight toward the stolid, old boardwalk standing ready to pierce the windy fury.The seagrasses rustled and whooshed, bowing down as before an evil tyrant.Harsh droning gusts whispered passing, lowly missives,though none but the gulls understood the tongue.Seafoam and grains of sand lifted off the water’s edge and were flung mercilesslyinto the savage gale, pelting the skin like shards of glass from a broken pane.In darkness and in the mind the cold and howling tempest raged, thatat morning’s break had subsided, leaving but a breezy, icy reminder of grand winds.

***

Peggy Capomaggi is retired from the business world and lives in Harwich and Wyckoff, New Jersey, with her husband Bob. She enjoys reading and writing, especially poetry, as well as exploring the wonders of Cape Cod.

Inspiration: The Cape offers so much inspiration for poetic expression with its beauty and gifts of nature all around us. A trip to the water's edge always makes me happy and renewed. I am so grateful for the opportunity to experience it whether it be by the ocean or the bay - a true blessing!

Water’s Edge

By Peggy Capomaggi

I stare at the horizon,lightning luminating thedarkening sky.Waves crashing onthe beach, cracking shellsand sculpting stones.A strong breeze blows,bringing foam to the shore,spraying salt in the air.Seagulls sailing in thesky, diving diligentlyinto waters below.Piping plovers pullingon sand, busily bobbingthrough grass on the beach.I wonder where these birds,shells and stones havebeen, where will they go?My heart hears thesounds of the surf andthe whispers of the wind.My breathing changesas I walk, like the watermoving in and out.The water’s edge is sharpwith sights and sounds,powerful, yet peaceful.I am thankful for this timeand am different as I leave…. the water’s edge.

How to submit a poem to the Cape Cod Times

Here’s how to send us your work:

Submit one poem single-spaced, of 35 lines or fewer per month.

Poems cannot be previously published (in print or online).

Deadline for submission is June 1, 2023.

Submit by email to cctpoetry12@gmail.com.

Poems should be free of hate speech and expletives (profanity, vulgarity, obscenity).

In the body of the e-mail, send your contact information: name, address, phone number and title of poem; then, in a Word Doc attachment, include poem without name or any other personal info, so that the poem can be judged anonymously.

Poets not previously published in the Cape Cod Times are welcome to submit a new poem each month; those poets previously published in the Times, three months after publication.

Poets will be notified only if their poem is accepted by our panel of judges.

Poems will be selected by a panel of readers on the Cape and Islands who are published poets and editors.

Keep connected with the Cape. Download our free app. 

This article originally appeared on Cape Cod Times: Read a local poem or write one for the monthly Cape Cod Poetry contest