Two poems I left recently on the Morning Porch.
In response to this:
Implacable whites, unappeasable skies:
the saturate shell of our wandering eyes.
And in response to this:
Mt Hood, DST
Cold and dawn-dark
(they’ve been messing with the clock again
who knows what time it is?)
The ridge disappears into cloud,
cloud into mountain, mountain into sky:
here at the raw crude
edge of the world
we need no pretending.
A fastness? No, a slowness.
Turn the wheel and the sunline,
taut and glimmering,
God’s garotte,
pivots on Hood’s shoulder
as slow as an impalement stake,
and the mountain,
a scabied ragged hungry eagle,
turns its tufted head.
2 comments:
Love that playing fastness and looseness with fastness and slowness. There's a word for words like fast with two different and opposite meanings, can't remember what it is.
Thanks for taking that "fastness" ball and running with it. You know 140 characters doesn't permit much exploration, but I like throwing out juicy words knowing you or Luisa will have a field day. :)
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