The Stream

1. 50

   somerGeeposted 15 years ago

   In my labyrinth back yard
   
   There is an opulent stream
   
   That never grows to tenuity
   
   In which the antiquated father
   
   Of my daddy
   
   Of his obsolete father’s
   
   Lionhearted papa
   
   Grew and met so shine in it move
   
   Of which with celerity
   
   They all drank
   
   Apprehending it so luckily to be
   
   Part of that luminous gift
   
   That today hangs mine
   
   Taking it origin from a
   
   Crackless rock
   
   Flowing to one nation
   
   To another without deceit
   
   Holding tough their confirmations
   
   And raising high our aptitude
   
   Whenever i go to my backyard
   
   I feel it that jocundness
   
   Spying it innocuousness glide away
   
   With a tormenting glitteringness
   
   Which push so elevated
   
   My wife to be proud to be my lady
   
   My kids to be proud to be my children
   
   And my stream to be proud to be my servant

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   1. 71

      AEvansposted 15 years agoin reply to this

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2. 61

   realitydreamposted 15 years ago

   streams in backyards are for the luckey ones -i had one too but far in the back acres where we caught frogs and chased butterflies and turned over rocks to reveal newts and crawfish -i miss it -somehow the poem took me back, ty-

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3. 61

   realitydreamposted 15 years ago

   they were walking
                                      THE WALKERS
   the sun was slipping
   
   splashing light all over the park
   
   
   
   a chill wind blew  from the north
   
   penetrated the sweaters they wore
   
   fabric swans in a golden pond is what they looked like
   
   
   "the car needs new brakes " she said
   
   "all our directions are a mistake" she said
   
   as the sun laid down at their feet
   
   and shadows licked the ground all around them

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