took us delightfully to a special world of light and perceptions --
but what of times that we cannot see and must reach beyond ...
"Green reflecting pools
are the eyes into the soul of the forest"
just writ -- reflecting also on my trip last week-end, with as much 'free form' as I might allow under this site's guidance (and my keyboard's poltergist control)
faucon
STEEL LAKE
Sit with me beside a smallish lake
and we will share such fantasies,
drawn from impossible meeting of forest and reflection --
clouds rushing to slip through that razor edge,
then bouncing back from nothingness
as ripples in the sky and song upon the waters.
I skip a pebble flat and glancing --
seven footsteps lightly prancing,
messages of presence and interference
that will reach the dwindling shores of never,
echoed silent and lost to the horizon --
toward imagined line twixt if and memory.
Come back with me at long past bedtime
when there is no moon and laughing sky.
Then this lake is steel grey and lonely
as no images of now can entrance the longing heart,
and you must reach out with other eyes
to know the depths of lake and soul.
Here is pebble of trusted weight and form
to skip across the frozen lake of dreams,
and pulse the message of your being.
Tell me of the footstep number and the distance to the shore,
and how you know that the faintest wave
will shatter stones just waiting there.
Reach down - down to touch the surface,
just a faint cold shock, nothing more --
proof that you are now one with all, --
for your ripples cast will flow out and on and live forever;
but only if you have faith, my friend,
and come down to the lake with me.
Sit with me beside a smallish lake
and we will share such fantasies,
drawn from impossible meeting of forest and reflection --
clouds rushing to slip through that razor edge,
then bouncing back from nothingness
as ripples in the sky and song upon the waters.
I skip a pebble flat and glancing --
seven footsteps lightly prancing,
messages of presence and interference
that will reach the dwindling shores of never,
echoed silent and lost to the horizon --
toward imagined line twixt if and memory.
Come back with me at long past bedtime
when there is no moon and laughing sky.
Then this lake is steel grey and lonely
as no images of now can entrance the longing heart,
and you must reach out with other eyes
to know the depths of lake and soul.
Here is pebble of trusted weight and form
to skip across the frozen lake of dreams,
and pulse the message of your being.
Tell me of the footstep number and the distance to the shore,
and how you know that the faintest wave
will shatter stones just waiting there.
Reach down - down to touch the surface,
just a faint cold shock, nothing more --
proof that you are now one with all, --
for your ripples cast will flow out and on and live forever;
but only if you have faith, my friend,
and come down to the lake with me.
1 comment:
The Unseen faucon is as visible as that which is seen if we have the perception and know, not where, but how to look.
Never forget either that the lake changes forever once the pebble is thrown and the waves created. And that pebble, now settled at the bottom has changed the makeup of the lake. It will never be quite the same again.
Your poem is a meal for thought.
Vi
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