Wednesday, May 27, 2020


©2020 Steve King
All rights reserved

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


  1. I like the description at the end of the soul ascending as the Lark descends.

  2. This 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.


  3. This 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.

  4. When tears demand a journey to coat my eyes, I know my soul has been touched. Very moving poetry, Steve.

  5. Your 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!

  6. Sweet 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

  7. So 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.