A stab in the dark 9
9
Startled by silly words silently soaring
over snow's dark, fine cover,
the old man finds himself in disarray.
A host of long lost images plunges
through an early windy presence
demanding to be named and dear.
The sea rocks the day
with echoes that flee the light,
rolling over a dark below.
He stands by water,
horizon leads to long distance,
a gull cries.
A Sunday morning bell;
eyes that raced are still.
Glorious peace that eats the heart!
All that and with regrets
no man want.
For a moment he dangles;
a bait for the ambitious and ignorant.
No sweet aroma meets the starfish
surfing on dark water's curve.
Death has no say here,
he is the enchanted dance.
The cod tolls for all men,
the squid falls,
grey clouds of shrimps
and wet clams
with weepy secrets
in a foolish eddy,
fall in into yesterdays darkness.
Poetry by Bob
Read 1117 times
Written on 2011-09-14 at 16:05
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