Thursday, December 9, 2010


Lift me on melody to join you by mountains
shocked into sweating gods above the rivers.
Lift me on thoughts altruistically, and I will come
in the wet flick of a strong mermaid's flashing tail.

Dream your world into me, into narrow creases
of my imagining, into pores of my dreaming skin.
Crystal blue water, hallowed beneath mountains,
will make a numinous surface for weary eyes.
It would be such refreshment to stand in the dawn,
as wisps of sea fog float into new-breathing lungs.

Take me now!...into a long time of amnesia,
a graceful moving to a stark, different world,
where happiness lives and no dire guilt stalks.
Anchor me there, as if I am an old Viking ship
drifting just off a coast of sheer rock plunging.
Be this day's anchor, barnacled and burnished,
with knowledge of fathoms on into shallows.

Under the pagan thrall of those great granite spires!
Into the mornings and noons and evenings of awe!
Yes, bring the wind under a cloud for my transport
to bear me over brash sea, then farther to hinter.

Everything is tilted, and everything is sloping.
That is just how my level-bubble slides off center.
Askew always, so I would be balanced ironically,
sympathetic with angles making the heart flutter.

Scale and diminution! How some of us need terror!
How it feeds the dark death-wishes keeping us alive!
How the scope of impossible beauty shrinks us down
for moments of caesura during symphonic gesture...
as we take new breath before the valkyrie crescendo.

Oh!...and if a storm should thrust in from the sea
and push into a brooding cove's beach of pebbles
and stones long-weathered to round and glistening!...
You might be asked to hold my hand, as a friend,
so my stricken mind's delight does not unhinge me!

And after hours of seaview and rivershore wandering...
before the paused clock of wonder moves once again...
let us leave those shores beetled by the great rock spines
and drift like two ghosts toward gentle hills and meadows.

Will there be pastels of wildflowers I have never seen?
How odd of me to think we would have left all the rivers!
Even here, a shallow vital stream sparkles the afternoon.
And I already know that norns are destining the waterpath.

Tonight, we will wend our way toward a perfect city.
Above us, great plasmas will tremble in aurora colors.
Take me please to these things and into your company.

Copyright 2010 by Tim Buck

1 comment:

  1. How do you breathe such life into your poem-worlds?

    Yours is such a rare poetic voice. I have no words.