Poetic Justice Poem by Val Morehouse

Poetic Justice



A dear old dam it is
this circumscribed, manly construction,
weedy earthworks through which
numerous earthworms,
hairy little poets prick,
a small womanly water easing along after
like blue blood soon abstracted
and easily staunched by the fist.

But, rams this bulk its pregnant army
against the weather and the wise would grasp
soon enough its wet significance:
and One is calling for more sand;
and One scans the blue horizon;
and One denies the sky saying,
there can be no rain here.
But June does its deed on them.

From mountains tolling bells of rain with
lightning notes the valleys descend,
rushing music so vast the world vanishes
before it in the blue revolution of clouds.
Bulged with intention it turns its blue coat out
'til its own ground quaking, the dam guts.
Water bears down on each One,
and no digit has the flood forgotten,
nor any man, a Noah among them.

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