ribbons of roadwe ride
through broccoli hills
watched
of hawks two
grooving ethereal circumferences
in the warm
blue heaven
as what is real
and what is imagined
melt as dusk
to night
as night
to dawn
as to love
in a touch
as to love
in a note
as to love
in the choice
to stay
or the choice
to go
5 comments:
Like slipping between clean, cool sheets after a long day, the scene described inviting and liberating.
ribbons of road
we ride
through broccoli hills
Many-a-time of your picture-painting talents spoken, the above is a supreme example. In a few words, you enrapture, somehow in ribbons and broccoli capturing the exhilaration, the exhultation, in life, that can come so clearly into focus with sun and wind and movement and exertion, the simplicity of action, of moment, vastness and beauty of surroundings, vastness and beauty of life. Blowing away the cobwebs, as they say, so too they of daily stresses and strains. Taking the last part with me a while, will bring it back along with comment.
Beautifully written.
Sweetest, I'd been trying to figure out how to describe the hills of Tennessee for years. The greens are so different here than in my native Louisiana. There the greens are masculine, military in their oxidized faded greens. Here, the greens are deep and rich and lush and feminine, and from a distance, appear as bushels of broccoli, a gathering of women, bunched and gossiping in whispers of wind, ribbons of road flowing among their number. Glad you like it. :-)
Whether or not you feel you succeed in describing those greens to completion, again and again you fan the wish to see the sights that you see. I love this poem, just had to reiterate that.
Well, one day you will have to come and visit and see for yourself. :-)
To see the greens of Tennessee and to give you a hug for being so very special, now that I have wanted to do since the very first time I visited your blog almost 4 years ago. :-)
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