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Walking
| Open Poetry #25 |
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Walking |
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majnu
since 2002-10-13
Posts 1088SF Bay Area |
Walking Titus walks in front quite dumb, Like Clive I prefer to stroll silent, Sometimes I stop - and the world falls On my senses, like a autumn leaf floating, As a great wave on beach crashing; Then again we move, sometimes crossing Roads, winding through hills - trees are rare, The cows, taos, are a constant lure, Titus would run and worry the gentle beasts, Company, rare, is just as rarely welcome, Soft padding of paws on pavement, Footfalls of rubber souls bouncing, Pouncing off of turf - aching forward, A shuffling of legs harassing tall grass, Green for now but golden California’s summer Is imminent as the chorus of baby birds, All await their evening meal - all alike; Yet we walk on, and the scent of burning Flesh, seasoned and now over open flame, Or bread fresh baked mingled with laundry, Fabric softener is pleasant in the evening - Soft and heavy blankets about warm pajamas, A pale spring morning, yet clinging to winter Follows a night of curling around oneself, Still there is more for the protrusion's sense, Chemical fire, pungent, almost putrid, A common offense is to use long burning logs, Husbandry not only in time but warmth, But true flame from seasoned wood tempts us, As if we, Olympians on high, flavored our Ambrosia of fresh air and coming moisture With the scents and thus tastes of mortal Offerings, ones who are only of nature marred; And on we go, observing the bleeding sun, As it lays itself to bed in the Western seas, Red sky - sailors delight, my thoughts swim, Titus' run free in cool grass and vast slope, But to both the faint knowledge of the sea comes, To claim its hold on our erstwhile landloving Souls which are yet bouncing off the concrete, Aching forward - thirsty now, we drink the flowers' Aroma, known far off and increasing as we near, Decreasing as we pass - Doppler's sorrowful red, Almost Jasmine, with a touch of English rose, A tithe of poppy, which isn't much, and a hint Of - can it be? - Moghra, Jasmine's more desirable Cousin, Memory must here deceive, Helian Intensity is not sufficient at this latitude; We continue as the East darkens - my past - Demanding a last embrace turns purple with longing, Begging me to caress old thoughts once more, But Titus pulls me forward, he knows no such Ache, it is his loss - joy is borne of longing, The fleeting instant whose return we wish, A mere glimpse into realms whose knowledge is sore, Another tugging now, impatience to be home, Where there is water, food, heat, and cushions; A real street now, stoplights and all... The previous scents in all their subtlety Are gone, all the glorious music of birds, insects, Branches swaying, boughs creaking, leaves rustling, Is gone - drowned in a sea of wheels and engines, Roaring and squeaking, as if a mouse had frightened A lion who cried for help - and it came, all at once, Bringing with it the putrid stench of fuel and fire, The few trees cringe and draw their limbs away, Sentient silence and patient suffering is their way, What they can do, they do to absorb the horror, A quagmire of rotting logs and gaseous release Contained in stagnant water where flies and frogs Breed is better than this road, this river of asphalt, Who carries not logs, carcasses of those it once Nourished with its small tribute, But a flow, a stampede of angry beasts with stupid Masters, theirs' shall be the final circle - great Betrayers of a beautiful benefactor whose green robes The would turn all shades of grey, black, and bleak; Thankfully we turn, our backs now to the torture, Eastwards, homeward bound, repelled by the edge, We are not creatures of that world, no, we are purple As the darkening horizon before us, We are rare as well, we who would simply go on; Returning to paths we know, plants who know us, The kisses of rose bushes sting, but are sweet, Other caresses to be had are bitter and sour, None of the latter do we ever meet in out movements As our noses once again feast on herbs and blossoms, Only the Dogwood in full blood, it will soon shed, And a rain of flowers will surprise some deserving Wanderer, our own claim discarded for familiarity, I could arrive precisely when it was time, It feels strong and firm under my hand, my rough Handling having been received well since I first Met this plant, I continue on, knowing our pleasure; Finally the path of return met - Titus crosses without Command, he feels the proximity as do I, we are, Home, where the scents are best, the birds pay no mind They observe us as we them, the bushtails, squirrels As others call them, come to receive their nuts, Water, food, warmth, softness, they all receive us, The sounds and scents for now within, we will walk again, Tomorrow. ------------------------------------------- its about walking. my heart just fills up during spring and summer walks, the beuty is so overwhelming, the joy - it is indescribable. [This message has been edited by majnu (03-10-2003 11:05 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2003 Zaheer Abbas Ali - All Rights Reserved | |||
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
so many wonderful lines in this...I can't pick a favorite...but this one touched me...I will go walking now |
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