for Fog
That agitation is, but, here, upon my
Treasured bluff, within a warm and
Sunny day, the river, down below,
Aboil, full, for once, and moving
Toward an ocean, barest hints of leaves
On trees before the fallow fields the
Farmers plowed before the rain, a
Cocktail in my sweaty hand, I may
Have slipped the grip of agitation
For the foreign-feeling harbor others
Call a state of grace.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 36 times
Written on 2013-05-07 at 00:42
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And Another Cocktail Might Put Me in Nirvana
Grace is not my stock in trade. I'd sayThat agitation is, but, here, upon my
Treasured bluff, within a warm and
Sunny day, the river, down below,
Aboil, full, for once, and moving
Toward an ocean, barest hints of leaves
On trees before the fallow fields the
Farmers plowed before the rain, a
Cocktail in my sweaty hand, I may
Have slipped the grip of agitation
For the foreign-feeling harbor others
Call a state of grace.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 36 times
Written on 2013-05-07 at 00:42
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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