for F.T.

"But In Contentment . . ."


But in contentment I still feel

The need of some imperishable bliss.

     Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning”




A perfect late August morning

And across the yard from me

She is sitting in the morning sun

Though there is a pine tree between us

And all I can see is her wrist and hand

Resting on the edge of the deck railing

In a perfect curving

Like a bird’s breast,

Her fingers unfolding like wing tips

From the nest of her palm,

Her hand hovering in the air . . .


And in this light, this moment,

Across the distance between us,

It is my longing that lifts and soars

Into the still air like birdsong.


Poetry by countryfog
Read 893 times
Written on 2015-08-27 at 18:39

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
It was only a simple glance and you turned it into theatre. Well done :)

U da' man

Again, my friend, many thanks for adding to the BirdBrains Reading List. I've just located the poem by Wallace Stevens online and at first sight it seems quite a treasure trove!
This, too, is a treasure trove, or perhaps a music box, exquisitely designed. I love the bird metaphor; and the pause created by the ellipsis is very effective, carefully separating the two verses and leading beautifully into birdsong. Applause!

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is an absolute killer, Fog. I've never seen longing so delicately and beautifully described.

What a well described scene. I love it! You are a master with words.

What a well described scene. I love it! You are a master with words.

Åsa Andersson
Beautiful bird metaphor, well executed. As always a delight to read your poetry.