3/9/14 Verses in the Blenheim Palace grounds
- i. – walking through the meadow, full of sun and picnicking families
- ii. – in the Secret Garden
- iii. – lying in the meadow in the sun
- iv. – walking up a hill in the twilight, sniffing in the glorious smell of sheep-poop on a pilgrimage to the base of a monument
i.
Trees are majestic silhouettes
forever etched in stillness grand,
quivering slightly in the breeze
as aura wafts the bracing scent
of children’s laughter to my ears.
And the mellow, well-aged taste
of honest British conversation,
wends its way, a stately flavor
born upon penumbral wings.
ii.
I am a wanderer who sticks to the wildflowers,
straying down paths strewn with golden halycon.
You may conquer mountains strong and rooted before time
risking life and limb for danger’s high and thrilling flight –
As for me,
I will lie in the dimming dusk in a hammock full of roses,
singing with the bumblebees
a homely melody.
iii.
Saunter through green, reflective seas,
redolent of waking earth.
Beauty – inutterable, elusively flitting –
is held in this moment, ephemeral worth.
iv.
The sun throws its rays to be fractured and broken
on trees with their shadows of negative might,
a scream of beauty,
dancing and singing its agonized act through the universe.