Sunday 23 August 2009

Camping,

a tractor turns and its mechanical racket,

indescribable vibration,

up itself, makes no sense

while my three sons, asleep in a nearby tent,

celebrate

learning, feeling, singing, whispering, dancing.

 

Most clatter is hollow; spiraling labyrinthine ears

and once I sat in an empty cave and heard – Nothing.

Instinctively, I made up noises to cheer

my brain – sounds of people –

like these boys breathing and dreaming in a tent’s stocking;

yearning for the centre of a small warm circle.

10 comments:

  1. Love this. Beautiful hidden rhythms as well.

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  2. Great lines especially..I made up noises to cheer my brain...

    Regards j..Never to early to read good verse.

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  3. memories of a child in the tent ... I got tears man!

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  4. Camping, I sense, has meaning intense,
    And I'm sure you enjoy the experience.
    But truth to tell, you cannot convince
    Me now nor never that sleeping in tents
    With bugs and mites won't make me wince
    And utter oaths I truly do not need to mince.
    And while you may enjoy yourself with rustic events
    I'll stay in hotels with turn down service and nightly mints.
    --Dan Speers, CitizenPoet.com

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    Replies
    1. Very nice. We're of the same mind on camping.

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  5. Stirls lovely memories of camping - when the weather is nice.

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  6. Wonderful images of the camping experience. Beautiful poem my talented friend.

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