Outside a ring-necked dove is cooing, Strong
spurs of sound bubble like a growling flame
guttering out. She rests and calls again,
less than my jumping mind, her simple same song.
Once more she gently calls and arcs around
with all singing now and here the same
until it fades and dies, vibration losing aim
but now and there again and never wrong.
Somehow I know my body-soul needs this
longing for the sweetness of her inspiration
and if inside my straggly lines you miss
a rolling rise and caroling creation,
at least you’ll not be trapped in mindful lies:
at least she calls without an explanation.
Beautiful :)
ReplyDeleteI do not understand why this has only one comment. Responses to poetry are so random.
ReplyDeleteDoves do seem to settle things down for you, and other birds with simple calls like that - and you said it well, what you wanted to say. Sounds like what you needed that day.
inspiring.
ReplyDeleteExcellent John. You've captured the mystery and wonder of the dove very well with this. Thanks so much for sharing it!!
ReplyDeleteProfoundly beautiful...thank you
ReplyDeleteVery nice.
ReplyDeleteComforting extends an inner rhythm to my soul that I need right now. Thank u.
ReplyDeleteLovely!
ReplyDeletelove this one - hauntingly lyrical, fine use of rhyme and half-rhyme, with great rhythmic integrity. & somehow, for me, evokes the poetic spirit of JohnSkelton ;-)
ReplyDeleteSimple and wonderful
ReplyDelete