I Call This Home For Now
This long road
Scented with pine
And dazzling oak
Narrated by starling sound
And raven’s crow
Sizzling static plunks in deep wells of cold stone.
High brick walls from centuries ago compete with massive limbs,
the sky scrunched in small containment on this long and mostly shaded road.
Shimmery with snake silver
And sycamore filigree,
Great hollow mansions
Resting in shady dapple,
Their seats pushed back from the wide road
Like sated guests of enchanted feasts
Filed away for an eon of sleep
Passersby are walking and talking and drinking and singing and screaming and decidedly trying not to see. Their costumes range through every possible degree.
A great magic clock is whirring here, I feel the spring wound tight, the decisive fall of each cog meeting cog, a sliding and falling which is endless.
The second hand is a great black vulture whirling above the italianate villa. It’s sudden presence with such outwardly flung momentum,
causes all else to momentarily blur.
Such confidence transcends a creature. And still…
The huge orange cat and the small brown cat with the two young raccoons are patrolling, above and beneath the streets They have them both covered and lowered
And always the glimmering greenery
The pellucid, perspicacious, trembling lush. That grand orchestra of a leafy palace
A Hagia Sofia of poplars
And roosting Totoros
An illustrious stage for the hour sun and minute moon to brighten and dim the searing bake and compassionate cool, the rise and fall of temper
a trumpeting, tympanic tempo of drama that we choose.
And there a friendly dog or two.
A squirrel or four to be precise
A spider maybe a firefly
And thricely possums on a waning
When the white turns to rosy gold or deepest blue
And I try to sleep before it’s new and white again.
A crackling cacophonous starling song parade breaks just before the dawn, occasionally cloaked in a saccharine sapphire cool. And somehow it’s also lightly raining.
What happens if I break all the rules
I ask a particular planet that dazzles in the morning dew
Every time is created new
He says
And slurps his milky stew
5 thoughts on "I Call This Home For Now"
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On one level, a description of my favorite street in Lexington. A place I’ve spent nearly a decade of living. I think a strength of this one is the idea of feeling both in a physical space and somehow unstuck from time.
I love this. I especially love the allusions to time and the clock analogy framed by the vulture and villa, alluding to seasons past. It’s strikingly timeless and timely all at once. A moment containing eternity. And your image of the mansions leaning back from a sumptuous feast is utterly glorious, charming, whimsical, fun, and majestic. It’s really a brilliant, fun, and gorgeous poem.
Thank you Goldie! Always so much insight into what is making it tick-le.
Agree with Goldie.
A great magic clock is whirring here, I feel the spring wound tight, the decisive fall of each cog meeting cog, a sliding and falling which is endless.
The second hand is a great black vulture whirling above the italianate villa. It’s sudden presence with such outwardly flung momentum,
causes all else to momentarily blur.
Thank you, Pam. I love reading your comments, on my and others’ poems. You have such great taste in phrases! I so appreciate hearing your favorites.