September 7, 2015

the peaceful moments will feed me your raunchy substrates...

Putnam Pond sunrise in the Adirondacks
photo by Steve Bennet ©







poem says, the peaceful music will feed me your raunchy substrates

(down to being dirty minded me)



an old brick ranch 
on a country road 
with its cottage 
and pond
on the back acres...

outside an early 
century hill town-
once a mill town 
now a maybe story
of if river knew 
the silt did too
who was who 
through and through...

poem says 
the pages need be swept 
each of their steps 
leapt with wear...
where yesterday went 
when nobody was looking 
dreams might have known
morning has always 
been empty cups 
waiting in ritual 
marsh reeds again...

the mist at dawn captures me 
I am staring at you 
with every literary ghost 
in the caked grey ash 
wanting to star 
in the story
of these parts...

thirst came many times 
barter, blood, trade and goods 
what once was crackled 
in a spit and spill-spackling 
out of the hearts 
of burning embers 
I poked at inside 
this field stone 
fire pit and oven...

you are still here, threaded 
to our last night 
you are  
trails of smoke 
little convective words 
the wind beginning 
to curl while climbing 
with the sun 
over the trees...

frogs and jays stir 
at the perimeter 
of the pond
while a hungry egret 
is a bent knee like me
a low moving tide note too
an overture for this awakening day...

EJR ©

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