Poetical Nonsense - The Poetry Page

This is the hour O Soul, thy free flight into the worldless
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson
   done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, podering, the themes
   thou loved best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars

The orange and scarlet at my feet
and I am always wondering.

The first trees did not spring from seed,
they were thrust into the ground by God
in a wistful manner.
Sequoias, Cedars, Elms and Cypress
not in a row.

Any combination of evergreen,
any copse of deciduous,
any blending of the two,

elevates me more than these words ever could.

Running with my memories
into October
on a shaded and abandoned salmon trail.
My stride intersects
with the path
of a rusty,
tumbling leaf.

I snatch a piece of this autumn from the air
and hold it
clenched in my fist,
near my heart, 
while I chase the silence.

Smaller bodies and lighted souls,
	really.
Lesser in number than illuminated stars
and better than the rest of me.

Patient now, waiting now,
and wrapped up in greatcoats of sorrow
are we.

Tomorrow,
when there is a tiny
hand in mine,
I will hold on gracefully
to what otherwise could
slip
away.

Down to a valley of
boughs,
chasing rain with a friend.

On this deck of
forest and
beckoned by twilight,

Trees vaulted from my
feet and
offered their tips

to God.

The next morning.
in a half-mist
and almost in a hurry,

we wandered
Carmannah
touching Giants.

Having selected as a goal
to travel in a mist like magic,
contacting without impacting
that film of dew and earth.

Slipping through leaky streams
of neutral, pale daylight,
streaked with elusive flashes
that pass so quickly and beg to be questioned.

Imagine the space of a moving beam.
Sweeping, then occupying, then moving on.
To be replaced by emptiness.
... a patient vacancy.

If in this action
There exists sounds.
They are ones conjured up from within
and once acknowledged,

become intensely inaudible

I fell in love with Rammle Burns

on a spry and windy day,
south eastern and bitter with salt spray.
At the base of a dune,
I swore I would never forget
the way the sun played across the length
of Rammle Burns.

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