Sunday, November 7, 2010
Flying With
[with thoughts of L. J. E., b.Jl. 29, 1910, d.Nov.7, 1960]
Wind ends nowhere,
Erodes sand, yardang,
Clay, shakes roof,
Web, hair and lifts
The matted woof of
Forest floor away.
Cyclic, like night
And day, causes
Clouds to spread,
Spins storms to
Shred on hills, crags,
Drags seed onto new
Meadows and, under
Spill and spell, leaves
A distillate
Of rainbows --ends nowhere,
Begins in mystery.
Between, it
Tests eternity.
Wind ends nowhere,
Erodes sand, yardang,
Clay, shakes roof,
Web, hair and lifts
The matted woof of
Forest floor away.
Cyclic, like night
And day, causes
Clouds to spread,
Spins storms to
Shred on hills, crags,
Drags seed onto new
Meadows and, under
Spill and spell, leaves
A distillate
Of rainbows --ends nowhere,
Begins in mystery.
Between, it
Tests eternity.
2 comments:
While this poem's dedication refers to folks I don't think I ever knew, your details get me down to the level where I'm pulled into knowing them as much as I know anything else from dust to dust, flesh to flesh. Inchoate but expressible by words well bespoke, mystery and eternity lie here indeed!
You know I seldom dedicate poems, am uncomfortable with elegy, but this is the 50th anniversary of my dad's death. You know how these mysteries go. We're always knotting sheets together and escaping out the orphanage window.
I enjoyed the poem, it reminds me of what I believe, and that's that life continuously goes on.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Lon. Life has gone on, indeed, since we evolved from primordial goo. It promises to continue --so far so good.
DeleteOh wow...this is so deeply touching, Geo...actually made me cry as I read it!
ReplyDeleteIndeed...you have expressed here the inexpressible.
So incredibly beautiful...😊😊
Dear Ygraine, Thank you. My father died suddenly when I was only 10 years old, but I still see him sometimes in dreams --an accessible and calming presence.
DeleteLovely images, Geo. Special dates tap deep emotions, don't they?
ReplyDeleteThey do Indeed, Jenny. Depending on lives touched, no one's influence ever ends.
DeleteI'm awestruck by your thoughtfulness with words ("forest floor," "spill and spell"...). You bring us to a conclusion so eloquently and inconclusively. The testing of eternity, indeed. Beautiful, Geo. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteStay safe.
Dear Robyn, thanks. You stay safe too, deal?
DeleteDeal, Geo!
DeleteYikes! Think I did a double post? Please forgive...
ReplyDeleteForgiveness unnecessary. I just wanted to comment under Emmanuel's song but couldn't find a spot for it. So I settled for close enough. Thanks!
DeleteWow...such an incredibly beautiful and moving poem...and a wonderful tribute to your late father!
ReplyDeleteReading this made me think of mine, who passed away 36 years ago, and how much I miss him still.
That hollow such a loss leaves can never really be filled, can it?! But they do remain always close in our hearts...😊😊
Thank you so much for your kind comments on my blog...it is so appreciated.
And my very best wishes for your continuing recovery...
Most kind Ygraine, My father visits my thoughts oftener now that I approach 69 (19 years older than he got to be). As the new century surrounds us with its new words and brash technology, the fundamental old teachers course my dreams and keep me stable. My father is among them --as yours might be for you.
DeleteIt struck a chord somewhere within. Losses in life take us places we didn't know existed inside us. What do you think?
ReplyDeleteIts nice to have stumbled across your blog!
Sending you my best this holiday season!
xx
Purple Assassin, thanks for your excellent comment. Indeed losses transport and sometimes strengthen us, but I prefer gains. However, after 50 or 60 years, the difference homogenizes --as if we were milk. I'm glad you visited and bid you welcome. Joined (and recommend) your blog on GFC. Holiday wishes appreciated and reciprocated.
DeleteCircles, decat and rebirth, endings and beginnings.....I think at this time of year we become deeply reflective.
ReplyDeleteWe undoubtedly do, Delores. In amazement from the many places we came from, the lives we live, the history we share, there is a communion in this season.
Deletethat was decay...not decat
ReplyDeleteUnderstood! Computer working wonky today --Norma spilled my wine on it yesterday. Spent day repairing what I no longer understand. Promises to be expensive. I attribute it to my mental decat. Thanks for the word'
Delete