Sunday, June 07, 2009

falling light (KKB-9)

from the horseman's view:

the horse felt light
when the work was done
when the news was good
when the view was new
and steps taken
need not be retraced

one didn't think about
taking life
one felt it
and what one felt
there were no words
save heavy

light and heavy the mount
sword washed in the river
gleaming as a shoal of fish
ready
always ready
rising heavy
falling light

above all
the sound remained
of sword falling
of head falling before trunk
and this is how it was
this falling of light

and with each swing
with each falling
to match the falling
the darkness grew
the soul dimmed
as the horizon pass gloaming


addendum: thoughts unspoken

from a distance
just a smudge
on the horizon

as they were
on gallop
smudges

blurs dull
wood raised
dead oak

to dead trunk
and dead
limbs

into the soil
to give
what was taken

the arm of steel
creating circles
from blood of blood

2 comments:

Autumn said...

I was not totally unaware of what the poem above was about, just overpowered so to speak by the music. A very different melody here, no less affecting, much more dramatic, the lines ending with heavier sounds, creating pause, focusing the reader upon the weight of meaning behind the words written, echoes created in repetion and reflection, of singular words and singular sounds. As you have done in the past with your story, there is no doubt, from the moment one starts reading a poem from this series, that they are connected, as though already there is an intimate knowledge of the voices, no, rather the great skill that you possess for creating mood, atmosphere, tone from the very first words, often times before the first, in image, in title, so that before one has read far enough to have gained any concrete evidence the essence has been received. I don't think that I have said it so directly, but I simply love what you are doing here, with these poems, still further depths uncovered for every ofference.

Trée said...

Thank you my dear Sunshine. I write from the images in my mind and the thumping in my heart. I try, to the best of my ability, to capture what I see and what I feel. That's all these poems are--snapshots in my mind, heartbeats in my chest translated to words, to melody, sometimes a chorus, sometimes a lector. The goal is to honor the vision, to give life to what I can't hold within, to let it live, ink as blood, page as bone. That's all.