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.
There is a slight twinkle
near the sun, and it brings a magic notion
down to one. There is a water droplet
near the stream, and it doesn’t bother
or even seem to care if it’s apart-
the teeming, rushing flow reprieves.
A single green leaf among the red and golden sheaves
and fading starlight, tropes in morning dark.
Waving grasses, stand in endless fields
beneath the doleful skies of clouds with daylight, now concealed.
Wisps of raven hair that battle with the breeze,
as eyes (that smile) seek out the day’s reprise.
And this, a thought to consort with the one,
the charm that twinkled with the sun.