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Sunset at Rivière-du-Loup, Québec: photo by andrew pmk
Cold clear days with a kind of white haze
The eternity of thought against
The momentariness of sensation shows
Separation is all there is left to
Enact as the sky of evening closes
On each strained thud of a weary puppet heart
The calm that nature breathes grows large
Colors of an insect’s wing on pale clouds
Serrated and recessive barred
A vapor trail cuts across a star’s reflex
While eastward others now begin to sparkle
And as on the playing fields night conquers
The moon floats up cloaked in misty vagary
The blood aswarm with imagined lights
7 comments:
"The eternity of thought against
The momentariness of sensation shows"
like that image....touching beautiful words!
A sunset winter sonneteer writes The calm that nature breathes grows large until we hear the heart constrict--as in The longest evening of the year.
Beautiful!!
Just read your book The Great Naropa Wars and would like to share my story with you.
Thank you
Tibor Stern
And as on the playing field night conquers
That dark smothering the scene of too much ugly, infantile striving is good to think on. It's a little easier to remember wet Friday afternoons waiting the long wait to be picked.
A great poem. I love the beatific, inhuman power of time/nature here.
Midwinter reminds that Night must fall, and conquer over all games, yes, that's surely the way of it.
(No contest, as the saying goes.)
as Yeats said...the poets have no
gifts for the politicians...and
the purest poetry like the one
on this post, the politicians would
not understand, and the poets who
aspire to be politicians of sorts
encountered a pure poet in the
Naropa poetry wars...a blast from
the past not nearly as important
as a single near perfect poem we
can read today right here
Many thanks, Elmo.
A nod from a fellow poet is the best thing any poet could ask.
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