DeForrest A. Penley
Creation - Poem by DeForrest A. Penley
The tall striped man-pole, with long wooden fingers,
Played no music sweet on a keyboard of air,
And the distant gray clouds slowly drifted right through him,
Going southwestward across the red sun,
The green and blue of the transparent ocean,
Rose swiftly to fuse with the imperfect sky,
And the red, and the gold, and the purple-skinned fishes,
Ignored us completely, and slipped right on by.
The sand on the shore was uninterrupted,
The waters were peacefully still and asleep.
Creation was dormant in intricate beauty;
The spirit had moved on the face of the deep.
Comments about Creation by DeForrest A. Penley
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You