Poems by Lorraine Caputo


Lorraine Caputo is a documentary poet, translator and travel writer. Her works appear in over 250 journals on six continents; and 18 collections of poetry – including On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019) and Escape to the Sea (Origami Poems Project, 2021). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. In 2011, the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada honored her verse. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her travels at: www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or https://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com


With these, I invite you to journey with me to Guatemala, Venezuela, the Galápagos Islands and Peru. 


 A Sunday Morning Walk


This rocky road winds & dips & climbs 

through the Cuchumatanes 

The valleys resound 

with evangelical prayers 

& off-key singing 


A todosantero herds lambs & goats 

down the camino 

His white-striped red pants 

embroidery-collared white shirts 

color the rising dust 


Springs rush from the heights 

through patches of cabbage & onion 


Three young boys 

bow under the weight 

of bundled firewood 

The straps press deep against 

their small foreheads, black hair 


 The wind rustles summer-dried brush 

along this twisting road 

In the distance white-washed villages 

nestle far into the folds 

of these mountains 


Towards A Blue Horizon

(Snapshots of a journey from the Río Orinoco to the Caribbean Sea) 


North across these eastern plains mounded with ant hills. 

Cardoon cactus reach towards the climbing sun. 

Perched birds of prey, birds of carrion scope the landscape. 


 •

Dense pine forests, the resin-smell of a sawmill. 

In one clearcut, a bulldozer collects the trunks. 


At a crossroad stands a woman statue with a scaffold skirt. 

Her skeleton still exposed on thigh, on shoulder. 


Fast over a deep-green river lined with palm-wall & thatch huts. 


After Maturín, the coastal range now visible hazy on the boreal horizon. 

I think faintly I smell the sea on this cooler air. 


The straight, straight road now winds – the flat, flat land rolls. 

The sky becomes greyer yonder where the daily rains have begun. 

Soon they sprinkle & downpour upon us … then leave. 

Sun glistens upon plush earth. 


Small billboard paintings by local artists brighten  

the monotonous-green passage. 


Through a village, metal shop blinds drawn shut for lunch. 

Three boys swim across a muddy creek. 


 •

Slipping into sleep, wrapped in the folds of that range of mountains. 

Awakening for a while, attentive to their towering presence. 

& dazzled by a blue horizon, a breeze, the smell of salt & fish. 


 (Mr. Darwin’s finches in salt bush and espino) 

  (Mr. Darwin’s finches in salt bush and opuntia)

                                       

Enchanted Morn


The morning sea washes unseen 

as dawn rose begins lightly 

touching eastern clouds. 

Mr. Darwin’s finches 

flitter amongst 

the tangled mass 

& garúa-dewed saltbush 

& espino, opuntia 

outside my open door. 

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