To love the things that simmer at the bright edge of exactitude.
To love the things that quiver at the dimmer edge of truth.
***
The firm black lines of a raven
seen against the pillowed whiteness of cloud;
a composition of thrust, desire and voice,
inflamed with purpose.
The perfect balance of bone and air.
***
At odd intervals we remember the world,
that we are one with this world,
woven into the fabric: a thicket, the dogwood,
spray upon spray of silent blossoms, the eye reels.
A solid gray boundary of gravestones stops us from going too far.
Firm Lines, Odd Intervals
29 Wednesday May 2013
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 
I do take a walk almost everyday. I am fortunate because I have a wooded area away from man type things.
Today I am going to try to get that ‘one with the world’ feeling that you suggest in the verse.
a wrinkled ragged piece of wretched matter drifting………
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I once visited the Neighborhood, it is in Pittsburgh, PA. Pretty much what you would expect, lots of smiling, sharing, good neighbors and everyone making believe it’s not sappy. Never watched Mr. Rogers until my son came along, by then I had grown up enough to appreciate the man and his message.
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Sappy. lol
I don’t know if you noticed in my comment about Mr. Rogers or if it was just a coincidence. I had written sappy instead of Snappy. I did go back and edit it and changed.
No, definitely…not sappy.
I have the same feeling now about watching Lawrence Welk reruns. Couldn’t stand him as a young person!!
Now I just sit back, rock and sing along. lol
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I thought it was one of your little jokes and I was playing along. I do think he is a little sappy, but then I like that in a person.
Remember Mitch Miller and the Gang – follow the bouncing ball?
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