After thousands of years,
These hills still rise like swells against decrepit shores.
Mountains depart valley on a voyage toward skies
Shrouded gray with winter.
At morning, chickadees cry warning
from the chokecherry trees.
And the deer periscope above undulating grasses.
Night, eyes become phosphorescent beacons --
Sirens and coyotes ring out in glee.
Cattle and erratics dot the scape
Like small ships at the edge of the world.
Once we were under a sea of ice
And glacial silt.
Now there are only troughs --
Spring-fed, green and limed.
Below, creeks and rivers of water
And asphalt.
Here, islands of weathered wood,
Rotting boxcars and immobile homes.
In this cabin I am both anchored
And adrift, an inconsequential vessel.
I look out through polished glass;
My tides ebb and churn.
These moorings could come loose
At any moment.
But these hills will go on
And on.
This is the first assignment completed for my poetry workshop; it's supposed to be based on the idea of Walt Whitman's lists. The photo is one I took last summer. (It's run here before.)
8 Comments:
Beautiful, Patia, absolutely beautiful. Both photo and words - amazing.
Love it :) Very nice!
what beauty
what poetry
you are awordsmith
come over for coffee and ahealthy salad
What a beautiful introduction to you, Patia. I think this is the first time I've visited your blog -- or at least the 1st time I've spent any real time exploring and reading your posts. I find this wonderfully sensual, evocative poem ... and you say you're the only non-poet in your poetry class? I'd say you are most definitely a poet. Keep writing.
thanks to Bitteroot for steering me your way. I'm glad to know you're not to far from me. (I'm in Helena)
--Maureen
Dating: Thanks. Next time I'm in Israel, I'll definitely pop in for coffee and a healthy salad.
Raven: Thank you so much for the generous compliment. I was quite a passionate poet as a teenager (but then, aren't we all?). Now that I'm getting my mind back in the habit, it's kind of fun thinking up poems.
Oh, I forgot. Thank you, Nancy and Leesa!
Patia!
You have nothing to fear regarding poetry, my dear. This is really very good. I am pretty much a formalist. As far as I'm concerned, if someone is going to write free verse, it has to have the rhythm and songlike quality you deliver on this one. It's a rare thing. I am really so impressed!
Thanks, Rick. I rather like this one, too. (My recent Howl imitation is another story.) We're workshopping it next week. I received a few comments on it this week; one of my fellow students wrote: "What's with the dashes?"
Umm, I don't know?
(I take comfort in the fact that they said that to Emily Dickinson, too.)
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