Maine-ly Poetry

Maine-ly Poetry Maine-ly Poetry by Kristin Gardner — Exploring the Pine Tree State through verse 🌲

A poem for anyone who loves summer in Maine! ☀️🌊MY MAINE SUMMERI breathe in the salt-kissed summer air,Maine's coastal b...
08/04/2026

A poem for anyone who loves summer in Maine! ☀️🌊

MY MAINE SUMMER

I breathe in the salt-kissed summer air,
Maine's coastal breezes tousle my hair.
Seventy degrees and perfect days,
As sailboats shimmer in harbor sprays.

I trek where spruce meets rugged shore,
Grand vistas tempt me to explore.
My kayak skims the glistening bay,
As bald eagles swoop to sn**ch their prey.

When lunch arrives at my favorite shack,
I crack steamed lobster and lean way back,
While butter cascades in golden drips,
The sweet taste of summer on my lips.

From blueberry fests to fairground tents,
Small villages host charming events.
Local markets brim with handmade finds,
Beneath the shadows of tall white pines.

I make my way through darkening woods,
To where my cabin has long withstood.
A loon's call haunts from across the lake,
As fireflies dance, and stars awake.

This is my Maine: wild, rugged, and free,
Each timeless summer—how life should be!

—Kristin Gardner
Maine-ly Poetry 🌲

The heartbeat of Maine—Forever wild🌲💙------WILD IS PENOBSCOTI am PenobscotPenobscot runs wildWild waters danceDance time...
07/22/2026

The heartbeat of Maine—
Forever wild🌲💙

------

WILD IS PENOBSCOT

I am Penobscot
Penobscot runs wild
Wild waters dance
Dance timeless tales
Tales of earth and pine
Pine guards granite ledges
Ledges whisper Wabanaki
Wabanaki revere eagles
Eagles soar past otters
Otters thread through rapids
Rapids recall birch boats
Boats carry legends
Legends live on islands
Islands channel salmon
Salmon know their freedom
Freedom cascades downriver
Downriver voices echo
Echo by Old Town's waters
Waters swirl through Bangor
Bangor turns tidal current
Current seeks deep harbor
Harbor guides to Bucksport
Bucksport greets bay
Bay embraces tide
Tide renews each day
Day gives way to night
Night cradles river dreams
Dreams flow forever wild
Wild is Penobscot
Penobscot I am

— Kristin Gardner
© Maine-ly Poetry 🌲

Every Maine summer has a soundtrack—and it begins with the call of a loon 🖤🤍------IF I EVER MET A LOONif i ever met a lo...
07/09/2026

Every Maine summer has a soundtrack—
and it begins with the call of a loon 🖤🤍

------

IF I EVER MET A LOON

if i ever met a loon
i would ask him to explain
why his tremolo and wail
are summer's voice in maine

if i ever met a loon
i would ask about his beak
dagger-swift through waters clear
to catch the prey he seeks

if i ever met a loon
i would ask why he can't stand
with his legs set far behind
made for water and not land

if i ever met a loon
i would ask how he can dive
to the lake's darkest depths
and still resurface alive

if i ever met a loon
i would ask why his red eyes
shine so fierce in breeding time
beneath the pine-filled skies

if i ever met a loon
i would ask about his dance
dashing madly through the waves
when he's seeking true romance

if i ever met a loon
i would ask about his nest
hidden by the water's edge
where his babies safely rest

if i ever met a loon
i would ask how he bestows
tiny chicks upon his back
while across the lake he goes

if i ever met a loon
i would ask how he maintains
feathers perfect as they glide
through misty northern rains

if i ever met a loon
i would ask about his flight
to warm waters in the south
when temperatures start to bite

if i ever met a loon
i would ask him to be friends
in this wild maine paradise
'til our summer journey ends

—Kristin Gardner
Maine-ly Poetry 🌲

There are placesthat make youfeel small.And there are placesthat make your troublesfeel small.The distinctionis subtle—y...
06/20/2026

There are places
that make you
feel small.

And there are places
that make your troubles
feel small.

The distinction
is subtle—
yet changes everything.

—Kristin Gardner
© Maine-ly Poetry 🌲

Every June,Maine scatters lupinesalong the roadside—as if to apologizefor February. What's your favorite place to see wi...
06/09/2026

Every June,
Maine scatters lupines
along the roadside—
as if to apologize
for February.

What's your favorite place to see wildflowers? 🤔🪻

In Maine, camp isn't just a place—it's a feeling. What's your favorite memory from Upta Camp? 🌲💚
06/01/2026

In Maine, camp isn't just a place—it's a feeling. What's your favorite memory from Upta Camp? 🌲💚

A month into this adventure, and we’re already 200 strong.Thank you for sharing these quiet Maine moments with me—one po...
05/09/2026

A month into this adventure, and we’re already 200 strong.

Thank you for sharing these quiet Maine moments with me—one poem, one view, one shared moment at a time. 🦌🌲

Have you ever foraged for fiddleheads? 🌱
05/07/2026

Have you ever foraged for fiddleheads? 🌱

Where pine meets water, wild and free—this is Maine: The Way Life Should Be. 🌲🌊
04/25/2026

Where pine meets water, wild and free—
this is Maine: The Way Life Should Be. 🌲🌊

Fishing ain’t waiting—it's war in slow motion. 🎣✨—HOOKEDThey say I fish to forget—but out here, I remember everything.Ev...
04/16/2026

Fishing ain’t waiting—
it's war in slow motion. 🎣✨

—

HOOKED

They say I fish to forget—
but out here, I remember everything.
Every sunrise I’ve watched stretch over the pines,
every bite that never came,
every fool who thought it’d be easy.

This ain’t just bobbers and bait,
it’s not sittin’ pretty, prayin’ for luck.
It’s knowing the lake like the scars on your hands:
rippled, reflective, and tempered by time.

You wanna fish Maine?
You better come ready.
The trout are smart.
The bass are brutal.
And the northern pike in the Belgrades?
They’ll make your reel scream
like it’s beggin’ for mercy.

I’ve seen rods snap
like toothpicks in a kid’s lunchbox.
I’ve seen a quiet girl from Rome
hook a salmon big enough to name
and let it go anyway—
said she just wanted the fight.

That’s what keeps me here.
Not the catch.
The fight.
The moment the line goes tight
and your world narrows
to rod, reel, and racing heart.

The way the lake talks back
in shimmers and splashes,
like it knows something
you don’t.

Out here, you don’t just cast a lure—
you cast your hopes,
your heartaches,
your grandfather’s old stories,
and every broken thing
you brought with you.

Some days, you come home with supper.
Some days, just a sunburn
and a story of the one that got away.

But if you’ve ever felt that tug—
the one that jerks you awake,
the one that sends sparks down your spine—
then you know:

Fishing ain’t waiting—
it's war in slow motion.
It’s a dance and duel.
It’s hours of silence
broken by seconds of glory.

I fish to remember.
To belong.
To prove—every time I feel that tug—
that I’m still here,
still hooked,
still ready
to fight for the catch.

—Kristin Gardner
Maine-ly Poetry 🌲

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Oakland
Maine

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