Sunday, December 14, 2014

Mountain verse – December 13, 2014 (12/13/14)

I took the wrong turn –
or missed my turn –
but still reached the bakery,
the destination.

It’s easy to get all caught up
in structure and technique
when you are writing/reading prose –
but with poetry, anything can happen.

A friend – of a new friend,
and an old friend, and a distant relative,
and a classmate – introduced himself
to me. The world is so small.
You’d better not mess up!

And a homeless man sat at my table,
gathering change for a bus ticket
to Charlotte. I shook his extended hand,
but shushed him –
it was during the poetry reading –
as any good librarian would.
Though I had no change,
I thanked him for his company.

There are plenty of gypsies
and monks – like me – in these hills.
And I am learning to love
their bending, curving, never-ending ways –
they speak to the centripetal forces
already in my soul, and carve
a path of least resistance
through their mountain home.

6 comments:

  1. I like the way this one flows. I'm sure the pace of life is much different but still very vibrant. Thanks for sharing. Arlene

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  2. This poem is so immediate Ray...I felt as if I was right there...doing the ssh-sshing, having no change, but being grateful for the company all the same. Nicely done.

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