... poems ..., ... space ..., ...poet


Every thing
in Nature is
eventually faced
with the question
of The nature
of things; the startled
reflection of
the Doe, sipping
face down from
the perfect surface
of a crystal lake,

or the way you
stare at yourself
in passing
as if you were
watching some stranger,

misty morn,
invisible chirps
weave chords-

black to gray
to green;
and no eyes
were ever so
blessed to
see, the
of all things.

the world undulates
in intangible cold,
lost forever tethered
by cords of Darkness,

still I pause
at the beginning
of time; Sunday
has crept up on
me again.


One thought on “Sunday

  1. I like what you’re doing in these lines. That image of the doe is very effective: it’s appropriate and done in a few effective words. Equally windows and the chirps of birdsong in the mist. “Cords of darkness” is less to my personal taste but that last stanza is the perfect closure, with Sunday creeping up again! Delightful ending, and it takes us back to the beginning too.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s