and to get there from here one must see
where the hills and hollows meet
and the rivers and streams retreat
to dreams and shadows fey.
Please do not build a wall,
the kind where horizons are hidden from view.
Solidified mortar against the weather
against the sun and rain, that blocks
one or the other – when they -the both
of them just work together to ripen
and soak this land of opportunity.
I ask that you don’t build a wall,
the kind where there’s brick upon stone.
Though time will avail itself
The vines and the climbers –
the clematis and trumpets will rise
and entwine, stifling the numbness.
The grout it will crumble
with a shout through the pale
as history teaches – walls are assailed.
Do not build a wall, please forego
this thought of a modern Jericho.
The grindstone of building this edifice-
the structure and reasons abound.
The land and the people in unison
need something better – more sound.
Synchronous dreams and horizons.
Hope beyond now- shared not fought.
Walls will not bring us contentment.
Bridges are much better thoughts.
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.
a spark burst
in sun-ly ways-
an excimer flare-
a dazzle- beware
of this exclaimated
when the airs
are gone – vaporizing
and in the moment,
a crumbly proclivity
appears and departs
in a fluted nigh,
and we are left with
nary embers or sighs.
I do enjoy the sounds of words. Also, I enjoy the freedom, as a poet, to create a “word” where none exists -if it suits my purpose for conveying a mood or contributing to a sound collage. This poem, I think, does both. Thanks for reading.