In the advanced age of my middling twenties, I've come to find that most of what I have to say isn't profound or new, but simply a new or profound way of saying what everyone already knows. We all have an understanding of the natural and the miraculous that supersedes our ability to paint it in words. The real trick is to come close.
This is fairly unlinked to the following ditty, but the words felt like they needed to be written. So there they are, and here is this: a goofy little prose about waking up in a swamp.
Flow and flows around my toes
Soft paddles in early light
Flat-disk of pond
Ringed with reed and frond
I gently churn to Life.
Silk strings of wave i have, delicate, made
To my left as to my right
slowly, prow forth
Just east of north
I stream in watery flight.
Silver glint, I spy with my water-trained eye
And dip my green head beneath wet
Calm as could be
I have killed for me
A scaled breakfast, my table is set.
Then flapping strong wings and these paddly things
I push off from a runway of glass
disturbing the Peace
I go join the geese
And quack loudly, serenity's past.
And that's why i've never liked ducks.
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