Tillamook Rock Lighthouse

Tillamook Rock Lighthouse


What men cleaved to
Dirt, rock, grass
To build up tall and strong
A house of stone, light, and glass

Waves, in anger
Against man’s incursion
For Poseidon's attack
Intending submersion

A watery grave
Nature intends
Against man’s encroachment
Nature defends

The light house was built
With the best of intention
Industry providing for
Sea vessels’ protection

The light house has
Been named, Terrible Tilly
For the attacking surf logs
Knocking the rock silly

In service long ago
In the year 1881
The fearsome construction
On the rock, was finally done

Rocks and driftwood
Were often thrown
Through the windows of the
House, at four men  all alone

Long time it’s been rumored
That the lighthouse is haunted
Crew after crew stayed
Through decades undaunted

The first surveyor on the
The rock it is said
Turned an ankle and splashed,
Drowned until he was dead

One “keeper” through
Months of isolation
Went mad it is rumored
A mental damnation

Evil spirits did inhabit
So local tribes did purport
Many disastrous endings
That tales did support

The Lupatia did miss
The rock in one fog
Lost on Tillamook head
All hands dead, all but the dog

Many years the rock
Now vacant I read
For years, it has housed
The ashes of the dead

Ken Goree

Seriously, The lighthouse was bought in the 1980s by a company that turned it into a columbarium, a place for ashes of the dead.  The company’s name?  Eternity at Sea.  Early purchasers, of these final resting places, were offered free satellite TV for life.  The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1957.

The lighthouse is a beauty to look at, a mile out to sea.  I’ve been enjoying the storm powered waves exploding up its sides all day.

Taunting the Storm

Taunting the Storm


Really?
Missed me again?
Come on Storm
What are you afraid of?

Give it to me
Give me your best shot.
Throw me a lightning bolt
Give me your thunder

Let me feel your power
Strike me with hailstones
Tear at me with your winds
Share your energy

Uhmm, yes
Here it is
The onslaught
The power

The cold and chill that
Digs deep
Freezes bone and blood
Excites the senses

Surf and sand
Roll and churn together
Dig long buried treasures
Scatter gulls inland

Don’t turn aside
Not again, come back
Lay deep your ice and snows
Really?

Ken Goree

Since this morning, the storms have skirted around us, in Cannon Beach.  The grey and white veil of storm and snow drifts in, concealing the sea and surf until the last moment.  Then it all turns aside.  I assume it is slightly akin to a woman enduring the bluster, boasts and bragging of a new lover only to find the sad impotent reality that the bravado covers … very disappointing.

Pairs

Pairs


Two pair of feet
On Cannon Beach

Rolling surf
White foam scudding along

Coastal river
Stirred by wind rush

Blowing sand
Eddying around ankles

Hail pounding
On toes and laces

Chill wind creeping
Against ankles and up cuffs.

Snow on sand
Mixes with each step

Footfalls silenced
By the clamor of the sea

Steps carve out
Crescents in the sand

Toes point to tree line as
Storm’s voice thunders

Soles warmed at fireside
At coastal end of day


Ken Goree


Another poem from Cannon Beach, February 2011

The Wind

The Wind


The wind
It growls at me
The pressure
Compresses me

The clouds press in
Surround
Gather in total
Blackness

Fingers tremble
As building shakes,
Trembles
Around me

Hail tinkles
Tinkles over, and
Over and over,
Will it not end?

Whispers now,
But what do they say
If only.  If only, I could
Understand

Whistles now
Through the vents
Under the door
Is it calling me

Bang, creak again?
And again?  What is it?
Is something calling me?
Is something there?

Ken Goree


This poem was written in Cannon Beach, Oregon, on February 23rd 2011.  My daughter, Carly, and I were staying in a beach front room watching as the first push of a winter storm blew in off the ocean.  Waves of blowing snow would crest and break over and over against our windows.  Several times the clear windows would suddenly be hit and covered with a thin white blanket.  Within moments, and a gust of wind would strip the window bare again. 

Though Carly and I are succumbing to the latest cold of 2011, we are still enjoying our stay, runny noses and all. 

It is energizing to experience nature's savage assault on the coast, even if we are experiencing it from a warm room, behind two panes of insulation.

What Will Last

What Will Last

Vermiculate lichen patterns

Painting basalt.

Ornate canvas

Centuries in the waiting.

Chalky code

Mere hours old

J. G. + B. C.

What will last?

Stone will always

Outlast flesh.

It has always been,

But not so of love.

Ken Goree