Poetry for Reading and Listening
I have, alas, only one poem to share this week. The odd thing is that I did write another that I intended to post. It was written just as the eclipse was ending, but I simply cannot find the file; there’s no record of it. I’ve never had this happen before, but here we are...
I’ve been spending a lot of time proofreading and formatting some work for my sister: a couple of poetry collections (she is a brilliant poet in her own right) and a gloriously rich, long, futurist, adventure novel. It’s time these works were available in print, so I’m helping with my very DIY formatting skills. At least I have figured out a few things regarding pagination—things I didn’t know yet when I published The Hillside Diary. It’s still a learning curve, as I’m sure any of my fellow writers will agree, if they have attempted their own book formatting!
Meantime, here is the surviving poem I have to share with you. It’s another sonnet—Petrarchan this time—describing the effects of the moving lights across the vast landscape.
Filling the Light
The mountains seem to shift; one would have sworn
They swelled up, dropped down, cliff and hollow, mile
By mile, and sun and sky stayed still the while
As purple valleys, long green slopes were born.
The sandstone cliffs, each crevice sheared and torn
By centuries of weather’s strength and guile,
Seem as ephemeral across their stalwart pile
As flowing clouds above that, wisped and worn,
Create the vistas and the shades and hues
Between. Long ridges glow or fade,
And valleys open up as light endues
Them with its power. Yet the light and shade
Fall on eternal stone; the ancient views
Have filled the light as fleeting shadows played.
I also tried my hand (or rather my voice) at recording a poem. This is Morning Dance. My readings need some work, but one has to start somewhere!
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