The First Time Again

High up, canopy of dark crenellated clouds

As far as you can see, and lower, the spume

And plumes of prairie grass like sea-surge

Breaking against last light a thousand miles

From here; resting by a half-buried hay rake 

In a field gone to wrack and weed years ago.

 

It's not true what you see is what you get,

The view no more than what is visible: field

Declining to windbreak row of broken pines,

Rising to a barn weathered gray and leaning

Toward fallen pasture fence posts and rails,

Sepia tints and textures of dust and rust.

 

My children would say there's nothing to see

Here, and it's true, who never saw it before.

But sit here all day and every joy and sorrow

This place and your life have known will pass

By you, some few shuddering through you,

Seeing everything now for the first time again.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 473 times
Written on 2012-04-28 at 22:54

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A very simple notion, memories brought back by the sight of a particular place, made into a lovely poem. I consider you to be one of two (the other being e-bird) who consistently write what only can be called gorgeous poetry.
2012-05-08


ngaio Beck
Your work is always enjoyable and instructive.
2012-05-04


shells
Those special places aways remain emotive even though they may deteriorate visually and the older you get the more........
2012-04-30



But I'll bet your children have similar places where they see things that you don't. Each of use, in a sense, lives in his own world. That's why there can never be too many poets.
2012-04-29


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
I thoroughly enjoyed this. I love your sense of introspection.

Joe
2012-04-29


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
A wonderful write , C F , enjoyed so much and appreciated by me.
Ken
2012-04-28