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She Is Poet Of My Pasture

Missing image
She is bard of yard and willow,

growing greener grass
to graze omnipotence
in blaze of windy sigh,

her harvest healing heaven's hole,
when word is note to sing forever.


She is harsher breath to bare intolerance,

when yellow leaves
are holding fast to last year's branch,
afraid of flying breeze-filled sky,

seeking winter's crystal kiss
to feathered love in still compassion.


This Native wolf, as she

to wander fabled forest,
in ancient mist,
drifting water's wisp for choice,
healing voice in wilder whisper,

from beyond far shore
of first encounter;

her crisper metaphor,

as silver bond,
in rounder nipple of beast,
and resurrection,

Lupa eyes to sign true waves of rolling ripple,
shimmering pond, as crippled page
of rounder art.


I am only mountain's cowboy,

trying to believe in fountains
spilling words of spring's impatient measure,

through ancient valleys,
drinking pleasure.


Bare my name
to hear her howl,
in hooves embracing the taste of fall,

New England crying Colorado,

merging night,
inventing prowl
in birth of sun,

on fur-born shadow.



























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A contest entry

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Comments


  • CarolDesjarlais silver member
    June 14, 2008

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    Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh...I am speechless...... you know of course I want to post this elsewhere under your name there...a sacred palce to me.... may I?

    And, contest de danged....this is such dearly honored voice of yours.

  • poet2angels gold member
    June 12, 2008

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    What a wondrous poem of passionate poetry sung across the countryside...This is just beautiful my friend...

    Lynda


  • Nicolette gold member
    June 12, 2008

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    I agree with Wanda...two such great and wonderful poets coming together here in this poem. Great poetry, Rich. It speaks as much of the host as of the poet...both of you howl so very poetically.

    ~ Nicolette


  • Night Hope gold member
    June 11, 2008

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    "She is bard of yard and willow,

    growing greener grass
    to graze omnipotence
    in blaze of windy sigh"

    That she is, my Friend. You've painted her well. Two finer Scribes have rarely put pen to page. Good luck in Carol's contest, Sweetie. Wanda