The autumn rain lifted overnight,
and in the morning our roadseemed a seascape as I looked East,
a long black beach curving ahead of me.
The puddles were sun-mirrored tidal pools
surrounded by the final tossing
of russet shells from the oaks.
Above, a grand artist,
with wind-blown flourish,
had dry-brushed strokes of gray
over the white impastos He scattered
across a canvas of palest blue infinity.
And I, the sleepy suburban Crusoe,
breathed the sweet breeze of morning.
Oh, I’m as tired of writing sad, breast-beating, introspective poems as you probably are of reading them. So today, I went back to my initial source of inspiration. Pardon the pun, but I went back to Nature. My morning walks with Mollie almost always provided my groggy brain with some poetic fodder--shuffling little old men, honking geese, neon prisms of broken ice—but this one was as simple as it gets. I just looked at the road and sky and sucked in a breath of elation.
I decided to post this little poem for Week 10 of dVersePoet Pub’s Open Link Night. If you like to read poetry from a world-wide cast of verse wranglers, you really should pay a visit to the pub, where my friend and poetic fairy godmother Claudia Schoenfeld is in charge tonight. And don't be afraid to leave a comment here and there. Especially, well...here!
