MT. MEDITATION Joseph Iraggi Tip-toeing through timber, birch beer and invisible bears in September, Swallowing Maple’s mouths in a gust of cloudy tears, I rock the boulders been there for years past remember and sit atop mosquito mounts contemplating the crisp tender: Folk trade in what is spoke instead of the made memor- y. Free for these that know what grows below the big Hemlock hems and between rock-walled glens. Brooks broken by looks from moose loose on the crook of a thousand streams where life is put together at the seams, Which seems… But nobody can capture the air’s tasty clean like the team of green turning crimson, terra cotta leaves left to force one to believe that nature’s reprieve is all but a need. I knead the dough of this land without its snow, still emanating its glow Before the cool winds of autumn let the frost out to blow, blow, oh… In later months cold fronts jump out the barrel of atmosphere Into the skies that rarely stay clear for longer than a deer near, where the People walk amidst clouds and sound stalks hawks. Life is but a flock of community in a single spot. So I sit atop Mt. Mind and see what I can find, Promise myself to neither fast forward or rewind Until I feel so inclined, divine in my spine And the needles and cones fall from the pine All in a hike up the climb of the topography refined. No computer can convert this experience into a sign. If one does not stop for a second, breathe in and resign The soul of our whole will be all left behind.
Posted on: Wed, 26 Jun 2013 04:46:12 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015