Debris is my beginning
the only place to start
as the river waters rise and fall –
rise and fall again
5 times in as many weeks
it's the debris that sticks
making unruly nests
on high water marks
as testament to the power
of water over porous sand
as story to the sun
of precipitation over evaporation
as mocking of man-made attempts
of structures that could last
as echoes of historical events
of time-warped dreaming
stuck in the bridge rails
looking flimsy and ethereal
but it's glued solid with mud
unearthed sculptures
crafted by water
baked by the sun
left as a flood memory
collect all the debris
make use of the bits and pieces
the tree-trunks worth of useless thought
washed downstream and stuck
creating cavities where no holes exist
absorb the changing landscape
on unchanged country
which is the breath-in and breath-out
of life
Inspired by Dead hedge theory by Terry Elliott
Lovely. It reminds me of the beaver's endless building.
ReplyDeleteOut of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
By Walt Whitman
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such as now they start the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.