Twilight, Padden Creek Estuary

Andrew Shattuck McBride, Writer's Blog

Remnants of this day’s light
draw me toward the estuary.

Low tide, and mudflats cradling
the creek glisten. The waxing moon

is already high in the eastern sky,
casting moonlight. At twilight

Padden Creek is a curving arc
of light. Dusk envelops the east,

grows. I recite the peace prayer
Qué la paz prevalezca en la tierra

May peace prevail on earth.
I step to the railing, flush

a Great Blue Heron from its meal-
time vigil, instantly regret

that my quest for peace has disturbed
the heron’s need for stillness

and peace in fulfilling its hunger.
I interrogate my wishes for peace,

my emerging watchfulness:
can I allow my wishes to disturb

other creatures? Can I learn
a less intrusive watchfulness?

I watch the heron fly north,
marvel at its wingspan, wonder

when it will return to its nest,
if hunger will now limn this night.


Andrew Shattuck…

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Nirvana 9 April 2014

NaPoWriMo PROMPT:   was suggested by Bruce Niedt. Here’s Bruce’s explanation: take any random song play list (from your iPod, CO player, favorite radio station, Pandora or Spotify , etc.) and use the next five song titles on that randomized list in a poem.

This was a challenge for me because I don’t have a song list, nor an I pod and Pandora is a mismash I can’t access as a list.  So, it took a few days to compile songs cataloged in my mind and then I forgot the details of the prompt.  So, perhaps I went overboard.  (Who me?)  This was great fun.  Come with me to Nirvana.



She swept the strawberry fields from her eyes.

There was no forever

and she needed the consistency of the moon.

Leaving the house of the rising sun,

because she didn’t wanna be sedated,

she stopped for a Marrakesh espresso.


Walk this way, called the man

with the peace sign.

Yes, she’d get off the crazy train,

forget the symphony for the devil

because she didn’t fear the reaper

anymore.  She was back in black.

Her reflection in a store window shimmered.


Thunderstruck, she wanted to twist and shout       

as an eruption of emotion made her a freewoman,

strong as an iron man, full of inner TNT,

a freebird.  It was time she came together

with herself.  These boots weren’t made for stompin’.

She danced past the peace man, twirled

and skipped until she saw the purple haze

over the bay.  Yes, she was on the stairway to heaven

where her guitar would gently weep.


   C.J. Prince