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.
Envision of insight determines faith about birth and death and creation. Very amazing poem is shred really.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really like this one Barry.. The 'Macbeth' reference works well within the scheme of your poem.. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for the recognition. Life comes from the cauldron of the sea. In my opinion of course.