Thursday, May 28, 2009

if we could only count the speckles

i. because there was no rain to soak us through

the timid beak of the bathing thrush
concentrically ripples the polished dapples.

the mirrored pool smirks beneath austere maples,
an intrusion of rust forcing the oxbow birth:

there is a current that knows its swirling mind
and will not bend to unbend the cowering mud.

six stark claws leave evidence of lather.

ii. each fluttering wing has a hidden story

one flashing swoop flips a visitation,
blackly tumbling a quilled re-division
for the fossilized flutter of a feathered bed.

latitudes where a fallen bud once made sense
seem to diminish in the gray uncertain moments
and the intoxicating orange of a crisply setting sun:

an idle counting of ones and twos and threes
reflects the breathy throbs of what might be:

an ironic ode to the ocher futilities of shale.

iii. into the quiet thrashing of languid dreams

each drooping laughing half-formed leaf
that spurts to flourish in early spring
becomes a sermon on the mount unheard.

each drip of sap a sticky tear
that runs through the maple eyes
of a world that will never bloom:

a cryptic euphoria that fails each breath
when the end of the clouds is grasped.

your mock apple pie is already being served.


  1. Hi Gerry,

    Beautiful, lush and enigmatic! These lines are fantastic:

    "each drip of sap a sticky tear
    that runs through the maple eyes"

    You describe colours vividly: "the intoxicating orange of a crisply setting sun".

    I really dig you original melodic style.


  2. The only thing I would change (if this was my baby and I know she is not) is 'when the end of the clouds is grasped' to 'when the end of the cloud is grasped' or 'when the end of the clouds are grasped' Just a thought. Take or trash, you.I maybe way off mark here though. Ha! More often than not I am!
    I am loving the images and the whole feeling she stirs within me.

  3. But will it trap the world under it petrified glass for the future to stare at and wonder

    Great post

  4. finally i saw someone in poetry.
    the post was moving

  5. Walker: Hard to say, but it's always good to wonder. Thanks.

    arlene: Thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to me.

  6. I am caught in both the language and the imagery here as though in sap myself. I give in. I let it take me. A pleasure.

  7. Weaves, and weaves, this does.

    Just lovely.

  8. Stunning. ii. feels like Hopkins.

  9. Thanks for your kind comments over at my little space; I finally had time to read yours, now that school's out!

    I just love the sounds of the words you choose--just reading them aloud and letting the syllables roll around the room is wonderful!!

    I quite enjoy your poetry--I shall return!