Sunday, March 26, 2017

Far Afield...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 26, 2006 at 9:45pm

Far Afield...

I'm driving my cigar ship,
Puff by puff,
Fueled by percolator coffee.

I eat Ted Kooser poetry,
Organic free range,
Grown from a rich soil,
In places far afield.

It holds the land gently,
Sifted through practiced fingers.

Ancient rhythms roll,
Dancing in my eyes,
Filling a silo of harvest.

Slowly the Summer turns,
Laughing under a Fall moon lit amber,
Carrying ghosts on broad shoulders,
Sensing by pen light.

The end of the book a farmhouse light,
Calling with warmth.

Many seasons tumbleweed,
Scratching the dirt path,
I walk on yellowed pages,
Sure-footed and crinkling.

My soul whispers back,
I am grasped by my bones,
Magnetically pulled along,
Whispering answers I learn from Summer clouds.

They crawl the sky,
Symbols of hope,
Stirring stars up.

Riding rich brown leather on the breeze,
I fly like a hawk,
Migratory winds ruling.

Everything speaks,
Lilting voices calling,
Searchlight attention,
I see the world in crystal balls rolling downhill.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/26/2006