• archive POETRY

    assembling a poetry book

    Some words are not for poetry – III
    (
    September 19, 2009)

    Onomatopoetically sung song
    spun beauty as gossamer thread glistening
    I slide down dew-laced air always listening
    to words tinged with heaven’s grace, but strung strong

    Love does come to me, spinning and bathing
    clothing and cradling my soul in its care
    Beauty arises with silk gauze my wear
    dressing, caressing, nudged gently wading

    Into deep pondering life-weaving in awe
    of wonder, surrender to beauty’s great
    latticework frame, which cloaks and sustains us
    translucent, hushed humbly, naked and raw
    Into this beauty we spin without weight
    hosanna-hymn laced with wild gentleness

    [from I am Keats as you are by Glenn Peirson]

  • archive POETRY

    I am clad in flowers fair

    Love and harmony combine,
    And round our souls entwine
    While thy branches mix with mine,
    And our roots together join.

    Joys upon our branches sit,
    Chirping loud and singing sweet;
    Like gentle streams beneath our feet
    Innocence and virtue meet.

    Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
    I am clad in flowers fair;
    Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
    And the turtle buildeth there.

    [Love and Harmony by William Blake]

  • archive POETRY

    I am a loon about the sea

    The Sea is large.
    The sea hold on a leg of land in the Chesapeake hugs an early sunset and a last morning star over the oyster beds and the late clam boats of lonely men.
    Five white houses on a half-mile strip of land … five white dice rolled from a tube.

    Not so long ago … the sea was large…
    And to-day the sea has lost nothing … it keeps all.

    I am a loon about the sea.
    I make so many sea songs, I cry so many sea cries, I forget so many sea songs and sea cries.

    I am a loon about the sea.
    So are five men I had a fish fry with once in a tar-paper shack trembling in a sand storm.

    The sea knows more about them than they know themselves.
    They know only how the sea hugs and will not let go.

    The sea is large.
    The sea must know more than any of us.

    [The Sea Hold by Carl Sandburg]

    Patricia Bay, North Saanich, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada