©2020 Steve King
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The Lark is
spinning in his songless height,
the awesome
mountain winds pass where they will.
My dreams are
well enough to hold each night,
though every word
that might have served is stilled.
The high cascades
will hasten in descent,
the killing
torrent, and the eddy’s foam,
and finding their
true level, will be spent,
to gather
once again in ocean home.
The peal of
music that did pitch my heart
returns to
play in memory sometimes;
but even
while faint melodies restart,
I cannot
these days conjugate their rhymes.
Adept false
prophets prosper everywhere,
and every
grace I’d own is second guessed;
now, always,
peace must conjure with despair,
and paradise
contend with wilderness.
Yet every
moment brings a promising,
a new
intention set to satisfy.
The shades of
all regret must take to wing,
so never more
to gather and deny.
And while I
wait to hear my Lark descend,
each thought
anticipates his choired throat.
Though bound
to earth, my hopes ever intend
my soul to
soar once more and greet his notes.
A new poem for https://dversepoets.com/
I like the description at the end of the soul ascending as the Lark descends.
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful the song of the lark and it's journey in life. I think there are still dreams to be dreamt and the rhymes of life are still waiting to be formed in the heart and intentions will help guide the way. Beautifully composed.
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ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful poem, with my soul soaring each and every line, until the end. I am hopeful despite "false prophets" choir of despair. May we find peace in the silence of the night,and music the when lark gifts us his notes. Thanks for joining us Steve.
When tears demand a journey to coat my eyes, I know my soul has been touched. Very moving poetry, Steve.
ReplyDeleteYour poem is a classical one with echoes of Ketas, Steve. As I read the opening line, I heard Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Lark Ascending’ in my head, which I’m now listening to . I like the way the poem shifts from lark to cascades to ocean, to meandering thoughts and music, and back again to the lark. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThat should say 'Keats' - apologies.
DeleteSweet to read you again, Steve. For me the poem sings deeply about the aging poet and this craft of ascending with the lark to "songless heights" -- as if the purest poem were silence. It is, though we keep on trying, ever more bereft of purpose (those second guesses) and foiled by inarticulate tools (how indeed to conjugate "faint melodies" with rhyme? But we try, we try, else whatever is left in the throat dies. Finely crafted and soaringly sung. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteSo nice to read you again Steve... love the thought of that lark.. they have become so rare, but you made me want to go out trying to listen for them... their songs over the fields is a hallmark of spring.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem, Steve.
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