| |
I look to see the mountain edge
is falling to the sea and weeping rain
is misting in the crevice
and drifts across the ocean skin
in ribbon squalls toward the greening island peaks.
Clouds are lying on the water
And the whitecaps hold the breeze
And laugh in ripples to the rivers
Which are flowing with the season stream.
Air is sandwiched ‘neath the clouds
And the surface skin and out to island peaks
The sun is warming shoulders and the crags and edges
Sea is moving, flowing to the island
Mountains rise and forests call to skyward and light
Is hunting the craggy shoulders to stretch and feel
The distant lava flow.
Sleepy cold and craggy island huddles
On the water sleeping
Light is grabbing, kicking it to rise and thunder like the lava and
The flowing center core
Light is moving, island sleeping misty
Sad and sombre feeling, time has passed and rock is heavy hard
and needs to flee
Ring of fire under water and the island
Toe is touching on the crater which sucks the
Emperors and the tuna down
Castle hill is tugging at my toes
And moving forward to the water
And the wind is racing up the cliff face landing heavy
In my ageing silver hair
Father’s hand upon my shoulder pointing
To the seaward sonnet and the dancing of the mountain island
Players, sitting sadly in the open stream
Father’s hand and child in water….
Jonathan Drane
| Submitted Date |
: |
Sunday, November 22, 2009 |
|
|
Poets
