Lake Michigan
by Pessie Hershfeld Pomerantz
to listen to the play of your waves,
to behold the rhythm of your ancient tide;
I am a splinter, just a vestige
of a tree full with branches;
I sit here at your sandy shores
thinking of young, hopeful times
with longing in my lonely silence.
My fate is to see once again
the shimmer of your waves
now blue, now green, now spectral gray,
to watch a sailboat on your back adrift
and see how your shoulders shrug, lift,
Lake Michigan, my young friend!
Picnic Boat
by Carl Sandburg
is dark as a stack of black cats on Lake Michigan.
A big picnic boat comes home to Chicago from the peach
farms of Saugatuck.
Hundreds of electric bulbs break the night's darkness, a
flock of red and yellow birds with wings at a standstill.
Running along the deck railings are festoons and leaping
in curves are loops of light from prow and stern
to the tall smokestacks.
Over the hoarse crunch of waves at my pier comes a
hoarse answer in the rhythmic oompa of the brasses
playing a Polish folk-song for the home-comers.
Tideless Lake
by Mae stier
pulls you, but its sway is nominal
when compared to the wind,
the atmospheric pressure,
the will of your waves
to creep up the shore
and caress the dunes,
reminding me I do not need
a moon to move.
and bonfires from her beaches,
the month when cottage owners
give up the idea of staining the deck
and call local painters who promise
to look at the job after Labor Day –
a comfortable, necessary fiction
understood by painter and owner alike.
“How much longer ‘ya up here?”
is the talk at August gatherings,
while glum shopkeepers
post signs proclaiming
END OF SEASON SALE!
and lower prices to full retail.
August’s big waves and wind
chase off all but the fortunate few
and now the lake can rest.
Now she gathers her strength
to face November’s roar.
- JN
by David Watters
tired and twisted in a wreckage of folded metal resembling avant garde sculptures
now with the moon in my eyes I breathe life into her mouth but each breathe given means each breathe taken
warm and wet we embrace under endless rainbows saturated with everything under the sun
where I'm going no man can follow
I'm going to the sun so I can stay warm.
Lake Michigan’s shinning big.
Boats are passing with the sails –
summer has refreshing air.
Ideal shallow to swim water –
heated, crystal air vibrates,
at trees people sit in shades,
some are playing on fine sand.
Shining with the crystal sparks,
spacious beaches - waterfront
and the Downtown stands afar.
Reddish setting sun with lure,
sky has color of vast water –
pleasant air descents cool.
I look upon the water glittering and bright, white caps flashing, dancing diamonds in the light
A flash of white and screeching cry, seagulls appear racing through the sky
Sun on my face fills me with cheer, for finally spring is here
The beauty of this place, this breath in time, spring is here truly a moment divine
Flight of a copper swan shore to shore
With her sweeping wing tips skimming
Gather her iron-ore souls from the cliffs
That lift along the turquoise bays
Arise
Our northern Holy Ghost.
These drinkable oceans are graves to glaciers
Tombs for freighters
Limestone crypts
A thousand clicks amidst the ancient glow
Below Moon boulders like mobiles of suspended fish.
It’s as if Michigan’s peninsulas
Was its own sliding green continents
Fitting together pieces of a new planet
Waves bellow a dare to all the apocalyptic surfers
Come sail these giant breaking swells.
Though you’re a dipped hand
Waving to outer space
It’s your down-to-Earth bare cold caress
That we count on for dousing the summer steam
From our steely brow.
Michiganians
Of the Sand Dunes of Sleeping Bear
Prepare an avalanche slide
From the side of your hand
A child pushing away the world’s troubles
Throw out your hard chest
Reveal your beautiful breasts
Like the goddesses and gods that you are.
Gaze out from these colossal pink shores
To the horizon that bends like a violin
Under the chin of a setting sun.
Michiganians
You are the everlasting Keepers
Of the Mighty Mighty Great Lakes.
A poem about Lake Michigan and my family
by Jessica Archuleta
every moment I can
watching you
swim
play in the sand
laugh when the waves hit you
all at Lake Michigan.
seeing each of you
smiling,
being free,
toes sunk deep
in the sand,
sun shining gently
on your faces,
laughing,
chasing and teasing
dragging, tossing
one another
into the lake,
burying bodies in sand
up to the face,
attempting the world’s
largest sand fortress,
shouting loudly
when the waters rise up
washing it away.
summer days
could live on
never end,
blocking cold out
stopping you all
from growing up,
I’d live all my days
with you at the lake.
never be bored,
sailboats gliding by
kites flying high
capturing our
imaginations,
taco truck
snack shop
ice cream truck
quick run to the store
refilling the cooler
and picnic basket,
all would provide
our food,
a roaring hot fire
at night
to stay warm,
start fresh at sunrise
ready to swim
happy to play
never packing up
staying always
together
on the shores
of Lake Michigan.
and to be their meanings. . .
October dusk.
Pink scraps of clouds, a plum-colored sky.
The sycamore tree spills a few leaves.
The cold focuses like a lens. . .
Now night falls, its hair
caught in the lake's eye.
Such clarity of things. Already
I've said too much. . .
Lord,
language must happen to you
the way this black pane of water,
chipped and blistered with stars,
happens to me.