Three Verses On Rhythm Poem by Barry Middleton

Did witches meet a summer night
for rhythmic chants and easy rest
and were they at their very best
envisioning the sight?
A wanderer in a foreign land,
weakly natal, blinding sand
and salty kicks while in the spell
and dreamy drifts between the swells.
Then mingling love and lust with dew,
a prayer, a chant, a fork of yew,
begat a creature wholly new.
On summer nights the coven meets,
a cauldron for a sea,
to make a potion somnolescent
and rock you in the moon's new crescent.

I looked into the sky a summer
Sunday afternoon and breathed the air
and thought I saw the rhythm of a wave.

The gray solitude of spring overtakes me
as a storm washes out slowly,
intensities of hue.
I do not know the truth, the lie,
immensities forsake me.
Youth is wise to ponder,
not too long,
the meaning of a rhythm,
the nuance of a song.