Guiding Light
A poem by Jennifer Lagier

Guiding Light

Rising winds push ocean waves and charcoal fog
against headlands
guarded by a semi-circle of granite boulders.
Beneath red-turreted roof, a brilliant Fresnel lens
pours guiding light toward approaching ships,
offers safe passage for those adrift
seeking protective harbor.

In his white cottage on exposed cliff edge,
the lighthouse keeper watches roiling sea,
sips an enamel mug filled with bitter black coffee.
It’s a lonely, but contemplative life,
serving as surrogate guardian angel
for sailors battling storms,
treacherous shores,
menacing walls of virulent water.

During these times of division,
dramatic climate change,
we crave deliverance
to sheltered destinations,
navigation assisted by benevolent beacon.

About the Author:

Jennifer Lagier lives a block from the stage where Jimi Hendrix torched his guitar during the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, edits the Monterey Review, helps coordinate Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. Jennifer has published nineteen books, most recently: Meditations on Seascapes and Cypress (Blue Light Press), COVID Dissonance (CyberWit), Camille Chronicles (FutureCycle Press), Moonstruck (CyberWit). Forthcoming: Weeping in the Promised Land (Kelsay Books), Postcards from Paradise (Blue Light Press).

Website: jlagier.net

Facebook: www.facebook.com/JenniferLagier/

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