BILL CARPENTER
Bill’s poetry has appeared in such journals as The Newport Review, Runes, Blueline, Chest, Balancing the Tides, July Literary Press, The Cancer Poetry Project, Surrounded: Living with Islands, Balancing the Tides and the RI Writer’s Circle Anthology. He’s a photographer, artist, sculptor and all-around
dilettante. A five year veteran of OSP, Bill has been part of the ACI team that recently celebrated its one-hundredth prison poetry session.
He and his partner are putting together a film for cable-access television entitled “Winter Waterfowl in RI.” Lately, he’s been organizing and hosting OSP poetry events at the Roots Cultural Center in Providence. He has four adult children, one grandchild and helps care for his 91 year-old mother. A life-long Rhode Islander, Bill lives in Chepachet, RI with his partner Emily.
dilettante. A five year veteran of OSP, Bill has been part of the ACI team that recently celebrated its one-hundredth prison poetry session.
He and his partner are putting together a film for cable-access television entitled “Winter Waterfowl in RI.” Lately, he’s been organizing and hosting OSP poetry events at the Roots Cultural Center in Providence. He has four adult children, one grandchild and helps care for his 91 year-old mother. A life-long Rhode Islander, Bill lives in Chepachet, RI with his partner Emily.
Dall’s Porpoises
A small pod is feeding
along Johnston Strait
diving in circular arcs,
clock and counter clockwise,
their notched dorsal fins meshing
like an ocean going machine-
so many gears
churning up the sea.
They won’t stay
to greet the Orcas
we spot a mile down shore-
they might be transients
known to leap
from the water
to ram them
like torpedoes.
Soon,
two great dorsal fins
rip the surface
with huffing exhales,
each as large
as the hull and keel
of a capsized sloop.
Humpft! Whoosh!
Humpft! Whoosh!
Then silence!
Till their silhouettes
resurface
several hundred yards
down Blackfish Sound.
A small pod is feeding
along Johnston Strait
diving in circular arcs,
clock and counter clockwise,
their notched dorsal fins meshing
like an ocean going machine-
so many gears
churning up the sea.
They won’t stay
to greet the Orcas
we spot a mile down shore-
they might be transients
known to leap
from the water
to ram them
like torpedoes.
Soon,
two great dorsal fins
rip the surface
with huffing exhales,
each as large
as the hull and keel
of a capsized sloop.
Humpft! Whoosh!
Humpft! Whoosh!
Then silence!
Till their silhouettes
resurface
several hundred yards
down Blackfish Sound.