As hills become mountains and the lakes lead to streams,
then writing this poem is more like a scheme
to capture them both-though it seems in excess-
The climb and the ascent to narrowed obsess.
Shunning all reason of what comes to rest
on cliffs or near jetties in scenes I know best.
A beauty there waiting in sunlit repose,
her eyes slightly dimmed,as she dreams – I suppose.
And there at each waypost she lingers ahead
culling the scenery I’ve conquered and bred.
And where I go next is of no end, this I know.
She’ll be in the heights or the river below.
I’ve seen where the snow melts to rivers,
passing over the cusp of terrain.
Poured lonely and loved into vessels pressed
by eons, it froths and drives.
Pulling and pushing the raw,
Filling and turning the wanton mutation
of these bends and falls to impatience
and hurried decline.
Cold and clear – this water,
a gypsy surge
bathed with benevolent favor
and no time on its journey
Embraced at its finish
and swirled among the pools
of a quintillion bonded kindred souls.
It sings itself, doesn’t it?
the song about love and hope-
the one about couples, and snowfall and candles
familiar lyrics and trope.
Each verse is a longing
request for addition
with vocalese twinges
that wear down, by detrition,
the crag and stone hindrances
built by decision.
Until, yes, the endgame –
the paramount question
asked with charm and sorcery
with little regard for others
just you and me –
Will you dance inside the phrases
and read my poetry?
Hold my hand firmly
as you focus and you breathe?
Can you imagine, here, set free?
The song “What are you doing New Year’s Eve” was running through my mind this morning, and I wrote this as an accompaniment to the song. A tribute to the muse and love in general, I suppose. Wishing you all the best in 2017.