{"id":4196,"date":"2018-07-28T12:00:58","date_gmt":"2018-07-28T12:00:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/?p=4196"},"modified":"2019-11-03T21:18:30","modified_gmt":"2019-11-03T21:18:30","slug":"sum-sum-summertime","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/?p=4196","title":{"rendered":"Sum, Sum, Summertime"},"content":{"rendered":"

Confucius is credited as the first to say, \u201cWherever you go, there you are.\u201d Since I\u2019m taking off blog time until October, I\u2019d like to share moments captured in a handful of poems \u2026 when I was \u201cthere.\u201d I am pleased to present such moments in paintings by my husband, Vincent Mancuso<\/a>. Happy summer!<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Tisbury, Vineyard Garden, pastel by Vincent Mancuso<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n

Leaving the World
\nMassachusetts, (Circa 1990)<\/h5>\n

Children, dogs and seagulls!
\nWho could be more up
\non the yuppie cruise to the Vineyard,
\nour first Friday bound for Oak Bluff?<\/p>\n

Babies bounce in dad-packs.
\nInfants set to breast.
\nToddlers ready for \"All fall down\u201d
\nas hounds cross paws for a rest.<\/p>\n

Ferry slip to creaky dock\u00ad
\nunder Cotton Candy clouds,
\nover white caps tipped for jaunty sails and
\nthe straw hat, flower-brimmed crowd.<\/p>\n

Off island rules surrendered.
\nIsland rites abide.
\nPast Vineyard Haven's Five Corners.
\nDone best if one does not drive.<\/p>\n

For a glimpse of Gayhead splendor,
\nof Edgartown's prim grandeur,
\nof West Tisbury Granary hopping,
\nor Oak Bluff's gingerbread tour.<\/p>\n

Weekends slide toward dock lines,
\npacking a ferry or barge
\nas a sobering crowd on the mainland run
\nstands consoled under seafaring stars.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Edgartown, Sitting Pretty, pastel by Vincent Mancuso<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n

Watching Jenny Mow
\nConnecticut (Circa 2005)<\/h5>\n

We\u2019re all watching.
\nThe lazy bees,
\nthe pale flies on the deck,
\nthe wetland\u2019s chatty critters.<\/p>\n

Jenny takes her first loop
\non the sitting mower.
\nLike her first ride on a bike
\nat five, near six.<\/p>\n

Jenny dares.
\nJenny braves.
\nShe takes her licks.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m under a golden yellow
\nPier 1 umbrella
\nwith a cut glass vase of
\nQueen Anne\u2019s Lace.<\/p>\n

We all share
\nthe sweet smell of
\nfresh cut grass,
\nblue sky and
\nskirt of draping
\nAugust limbs.
\nThe triumphant
\nlawn bride rides.
\nThe beaming groom grins.<\/p>\n

I heard
\nnothing really matters.
\nNothing lasts.
\nStill, all of nature chatters
\nas our Jenny cuts the grass.<\/p>\n

Candlewood North
\nConnecticut (Circa  2015)<\/h5>\n

A little life.
\nA big splash.
\nRace to the float,
\nbut, first, better ask.<\/p>\n

Watch a medic on Survivor's dock.
\nWipe extra photos from the
\nSolstice fire.
\nClick, click, tock, tock.<\/p>\n

The buzz of voices
\nturn a row of
\ntanned young moms.
\nThe line of Adirondack chairs
\ngleam - as seen from the seaplane.<\/p>\n

Trees cast shadows
\nas night gently falls.
\nAs one by one,
\nthe children call.<\/p>\n

\"Mommy, watch me!'
\nechoes across the lake.<\/p>\n

\"Not my circus.
\nNot my monkeys.\"<\/p>\n

Charmed life,
\nfor the kids' sake.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

Stepping Out: A Dream Excursion 
\nFrance (Circa 1995)<\/h5>\n

Crossing shadows and cobble as
\ncenturies of former lovers,
\nto the ramparts of Montelimar,
\nwe hug vin, pain and fromage
\npast Inspector Concierge.<\/p>\n

On a terrace in the twilight,
\nwe breathe in the nectar of summer,
\nhear mothers calling children,
\ntoasted children straggling home.<\/p>\n

Miles to go before Paris,
\nflamb\u00e9 in our feast of France.
\nWe blow kisses to beckon nightfall,
\nto bed in a moonlit trance.<\/p>\n

Crossing fields of lavender and sunflowers,
\nwe shrug off thunder showers.<\/p>\n

We yield a tour day to a sidewalk caf\u00e9.
\nMemory preserves a flutter of lace.<\/p>\n

Farmer aristocrats, vineyard bronzed,
\npocket our francs in a marketplace.<\/p>\n

Arm-in-arm to Paris,
\nshedding all such country quiet.
\nBeguiled by a city where bistros await,
\nwe twirl up the tower,
\nscanning lights upon lights.
\nAnchored at heart,
\nas the Seine River flows,
\nto revel in love's awesome depths,
\nfearless heights.<\/p>\n

Note<\/strong>: The dream became reality in 2011.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Lake George, watercolor by Reggie Morrisey<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/h5>\n
 <\/h5>\n
 <\/h5>\n
 <\/h5>\n
 <\/h5>\n
Lake George 
\nNew York (Circa 1980)<\/h5>\n

What is wrong with this picture?
\nIncongruous lawn table and flower vase
\ncompeting with fronds in giant cups?
\nOn the top of a triple-decker boat?<\/p>\n

Such conspicuous consumption
\nhas no right to float
\nin a tropical heat wave
\nabove Lake George.<\/p>\n

On a night like this,
\nall is cinema:
\nflowers, water, chairs flecked
\nwith lights, cameras, action.<\/p>\n

Laughing women and cursing gents
\ncommence their show of fun
\nwhile boardwalk spectators eye
\na needle fit for no camel and
\na townie waitress shrugs off her despair.<\/p>\n

Like a child shaking chills
\non a winter's night, skating,
\nthe only one there
\nwhen thirty miles of ripples freeze.
\nStill as the cash register.
\nLong as the line at welfare.<\/p>\n

Like an idle cook stewing in his juice,
\na new boy over his first fist fight.
\nSeems nowhere to go but up.
\nIn such a \"have and have not\" world,
\ncouldn't one deck be enough?<\/p>\n

Free Fall at Sherwood Island
\nConnecticut (Circa 1985)<\/h5>\n

The kites are moored above the beach.
\nAll is quiet by the Sound.
\nBut there is a buzz of fighter planes
\ncareening toward the ground.<\/p>\n

The boys thrive at the landing strip
\nbeyond the tall marsh grass.
\nWhite haired, gray haired, balding boys.
\nVictorious at last.<\/p>\n

The beach head\u2019s theirs
\nand all the clouds.
\nThe parking lot
\nwithout the crowds
\nas yonder in their wildest blue,
\na dog fight howls
\nand nose to tail,
\nthe toy planes spin.
\nDiving, rising, diving again
\nto end in split-second saves.<\/p>\n

What brushes with destruction
\nfor the tiny motor blades.
\nWhat close calls for the fine wood wings.
\nWhat glory for each flag decal. 
\nFew could resist the spoils of a war
\nthis autumn among ace flying pals.<\/p>\n

Remington, The Raptor
\nNew York (Circa 1990)<\/h5>\n

I have but one bare mews, and
\nI am not fooled by
\nthe shadow of window bars
\nthat creep across its walls.<\/p>\n

I keep my own counsel,
\nwaiting for a wing or
\nwhisker to fall.<\/p>\n

I awake for the hood
\nto cover my eyes,
\nfor the glove and
\nthen the leash.
\nFor the human voice
\ncaressing me
\nin its whispered,
\nsoothing speech.<\/p>\n

I wait for
\nthe humming engine,
\nthe whinnying horse,
\nthe panting hounds,
\nthe pointer\u2019s yelping cry.<\/p>\n

I wait for the jingle of
\nmy <\/i>bells to shake the sky.
\nTo part from the earth,
\nrise above the mews and fly.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

\"\"<\/a>

Lake shore, watercolor by Reggie Morrisey<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n

Life Challengers Approaching Dusk
\nNew York (Circa 1985)<\/h5>\n

Their rowboat bounds
\nfor\u00ad blindly glistening waves.
\nLurching from the shore,
\nthey bicker and spin
\ninto the sun's path
\ntill at last\u00ad
\nthey are lost to my sight
\nlike the first astronauts
\ngone behind the moon.<\/p>\n

Speed boats,
\nbellowing motors and dudes,
\nnow leeward, starboard
\nbow-to-stern loom.
\nHooting teen seamen
\nguzzle a six pack or two
\nHot dogging it for dockside pals.<\/p>\n

Like mindless comets
\nthey spear a wake.
\nAsteroids,
\nready to forsake the wheel.
\nAll I hear are engines
\nand squeals
\nas the mad dash into the sun.<\/p>\n

Given the turbulent liquid space,
\nthe day's end voyage
\nnow seems a mistake.
\nRe-entry cannot come too soon
\nfor my daring explorers,
\nmy two young daughters.<\/p>\n

\"This is mission control.
\nCome in, please.
\nTell me what you saw.
\nBring samples
\nfrom the far-off shore.
\nRow here victorious
\nand nonchalant...\u201d<\/p>\n

The sun drops to silhouette
\ntheir boat into view.
\nAt peace in a cove
\nriotous with crickets.<\/p>\n

Bent over lilies\u00ad
\nbundled up for the night,
\nthe girls are all right.<\/p>\n

My eyes pull their oars hard,
\nwill them to this shore,
\npassed macho vessels,
\nintoxicated with power.<\/p>\n

As they dart across the lawn
\nand toss down the oars,
\nI wonder
\nwho wills the wild boys home
\nat this bewitching hour.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

My Rondout Creek, acrylic by Vincent Mancuso<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Last Sweep of Cottage #4
\nNew York (September 2014)<\/h5>\n

With a child-sized broom,
\nI stoop to sweep through rooms,
\npast our cozy, creaky bed,
\nfull, not queen.<\/p>\n

I cross the wooden planks,
\nboth dull and rich with age.
\nPeer at windows to my worlds,
\nto woods and an office screen.<\/p>\n

To where the cat scratches a post
\nand a sleeper couch plays host
\nto kids and grandkids
\nevery now and then \u2026
\nfor hugs and laughs
\nafter shivering swims.<\/p>\n

Past the glass-faced pantry,
\nso like the window sill,
\nonce filled with fruits of the season
\nand a smiling plaster chef,
\nsaintly patron of our bounty.<\/p>\n

To the side door,
\ndraped and sprayed
\nthick with Home Defense,
\nwhere I cupped all moths to exit
\nand coaxed their nightly flights.<\/p>\n

Onto the screened-in porch,
\nour paradise of sorts.
\nFor breakfast, rain or shine.
\nFor dining in candlelight.
\nHere, I sweep what's left of wasps
\ndowned in \"us\" or \"them\" fights.<\/p>\n

I will not sweep the Skytop view
\nof sloping lawn and towering trees.
\nThe path into the forest,
\nor hummingbirds on a breeze.<\/p>\n

I hold fast northern creature songs
\ntill once again we call this home
\nnext year.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Chef on Sill, Cottage #4<\/p><\/div><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Confucius is credited as the first to say, \u201cWherever you go, there you are.\u201d Since I\u2019m taking off blog time until October, I\u2019d like to share moments captured in a handful of poems \u2026 when I was \u201cthere.\u201d I am pleased to present such moments in paintings by my husband, Vincent Mancuso. Happy summer! Leaving the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4196","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4196","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4196"}],"version-history":[{"count":219,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4196\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6114,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4196\/revisions\/6114"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4196"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4196"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.reggiemorrisey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4196"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}