Sabbath Song

 

I sing the body electric . . .

   Walt Whitman

 

 

  

Past a church quiet between services,

The faithful my mother called Holy Rollers,

Next to this old country road made new

And unnecessary, a leaning power pole

No longer connects to anything, lightning

Having sheared away the top and wires,

Leaving one cock-eyed cross-brace, Biblical

Too in its way, when here then was only

The way past farms and fields, and perhaps

Only I ever notice now the ivy covering

The pole, climbing to its top and beyond,

Where an eagle perches in a blue wave of

Heat shimmer and sparks of light, leaning  

Into the air, neither falling nor yet flying

But poised there in the space between,

Considering a moment a leap of faith,

Then slipping just a little down until,

With a single shudder of its slow wings,

Its white and brown feathers motionless

And spread, skimming the air currents,

The invisible wires of the wind, it soars

Into the communion of its life and mine,

Its cry of hunger the only song it knows.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 462 times
Written on 2015-06-09 at 13:14

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
This scene is described so vividly that I could feel the whole experience. There are few poets who can do that. Your work always transports the reader like a magical machine. The pole, the ivy, the eagle and the Holy Rollers are all players bringing it to life :)
2015-06-11


Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Well, this is a very absorbing read, my friend :-)
I apologise that I don't know Walt Whitman; here is my comment anyway. There is plenty of spark in this piece! I love the description of the first few lines leading into the power pole that, though ravaged, has so much dynamism in its associations and shape. And of course I cherish the eagle, for his majesty and beautiful pattern of flight. The 'wires of the wind' brings a satisfying cadence to the poem and I am left watching the eagle in flight, wishing I could join him. Applause!
2015-06-09