The Mountain is Clear

Today, the mountain is clear
  green - lush - almost boisterous
Yesterday's rains have made
  a haughty fellow
  of all of us

The clouds pose and posture
  wayward - cattywampus 
Sleek grey below
  massive white thunderheads
Bringing an air about them
  cool and humid
Denying Helios his June
The June I knew from
  prairie plain and arid desert
A vibrant green replaced
  sand and fair field

Today, the mountain is clear.

7 thoughts on “The Mountain is Clear

      • All of these I much enjoy. The comment to you was smiling hugely but only hugely happened it seems. We’ve had our wet season unusually long. – seems it rained from October – May. But in August we’ll be praying for it. The west has really been hit hard with the drought. I am glad to hear rain has started. It seems with rain though, it is feast or famine. I told someone in a comment, that your poetry ranged from spare to lush, joyful to cynical, rainy to dry…all the stops in between, unlike me who only attempts haiku. I hope you’ll have some of my folk wander your way. they seem to be a good mix.

        • My friends in California were very close to the wildfires a bit back, and, as is/was all of Cali, were dealing with the drought. My Gma’s garden has all but failed the last few years which deprived us of some yummy zucchini, squash, and corn. It’s been horribly tough on the farmers, the ‘Okies’ if you will, but those folks have dust in their veins and will persevere.

          As for Fukushima, we have rain in the forecast all week which is wonderful for breaking the heat we’ve been having.

          Now, my poetry does seem to go from different extremes a bit, doesn’t it! Maybe we can blame it on the manic depression. In one moment, I’m awed by nature and see some kind of divinity emanating from it, and then the next I find my ‘realism’ (read ‘cynicism’) overwhelming both the beauty and grace that I believed to be apparent the moment before. This may be why I have a difficult relationship with religion which comes out differently in different poems.

          The poems I posted in that clump all came in about 20 minutes while I was drinking coffee and staring at the mountains. The winds were blowing on and off, some so strongly that the apartment shook like an earthquake, and the entire world seemed to breathe, to huff and puff, and to sigh lowly and slowly, giving me a chance to gather the last two weeks.

          Additionally, this is also why I have a hard time keeping up with other bloggers/poets. Reading and visiting takes a lot out of me. I read and empathize and devote myself to the writer’s perspective as best I can. The emotional projection can be both draining and invigorating. I also do a mini-mental scansion of poems while I’m reading them. I make note of any pattern, meter, rhyme scheme, accented/unaccented syllable, trying to discern if these devices have any meaning.

          A good example of this in my own writing is in the poem “Anglo Saxophone.” The first line of the second stanza:

          ‘We; those; they who know not the short drop’

          is missing one syllable for the pentameter that I have established throughout the poem. The missing syllable is meant to symbolize the ‘short’ drop, the life cut short, and the view of the ‘oppressed’ not being totally human. The arrangement of syllables are meant to make it slightly hard to read at the beginning to illustrate the struggle before the drop, while the latter half’s easy reading is meant to be the actual dropping.

          Now, what about that missing syllable? It’s in the forth stanza/third line:

          ‘While those in the gallows know no privilege’

          Eleven syllables, depending on how you pronounce ‘privilege.’ This is meant to show how the privileged even get the extra syllable from those they oppress! ‘[T]hose in the gallows’ know not the power and privilege of their oppressors… but I digress. 😀

        • Also, too: Your haiku always leave me in awe. “Wisteria” is one of my favorite haiku ever! It stands next to any I’ve read before, and taller than anything I’ve writ. Your haiku are like “grandma’s home cookin.'” Each one takes me to a special place.

    • I know! Around here, they’re usually mist/cloud wrapped or it’s a bit hazy. It’s nice to see them perfectly clear. Now if I only had a decent camera…

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