Yesterday I thought I might find a poem for Paul Milataru’s magical photograph. A sonnet of sorts.
Quiet, except for the clamour in my head,
the chirruping of sharp-beaked nagging
that competes with oriole music.
Still, except for the restless waves of anxiety, mimicking
the gentle swaying of boughs, and the clouds that drift
at a relentless pace across the unforgiving sky.
Peace, except in the world beyond the hedge, in almost
every heart, and the weight pushes against these barriers
with the force of twisted nature.
How to fight the noise and listen to the music beneath,
to still the turbulent troubled air and let peace fall like
a sunset, a spring shower, a smile in the darkness?
When moonlight leads the way along the lane and the owls cry,
when sloes glow dark as midnight pearls, I see where secrets lie.
Excellent!!! 🙂 🙂 🙂
Thank you!
my pleasure, Jane! 🙂
🙂
How beautiful.. both poem and photograph.
Thank you! I’m pleased with the poem that came out 🙂
I particularly like the last couplet. That photo is magical–it looks like a painting.
Thank you. I made the last stanza a couplet when I realised the rest of it read like a sonnet.
I thought it was a painting to begin with.
No peace in the word beyond, we’ve got to take what we can get.
That photo is exactly how the moon looked out my back window through the tree a few night ago. The branches moved in the wind and it danced too. (K)
You’re right. When I hear people say there’s nothing we can do about poverty and distress because this world was always intended (by our all-loving God) to be a vale of tears; I want to do some serious slapping.
The moon here is yellow at tree level—a real harvest moon.
Wow! A real cooperative masterpiece! Hope you have a nice Sunday! Best wishes, Michael
Thank you, Michael. It’s been a good day, working outside, but it looks like a storm coming.