Name itPosted: April 8, 2012 Filed under: poetry, states of mind, writing 2 Comments
I call it A Rock in the Cosmos,
a rock on the ground with no name.
But let’s be real. It is a rock,
not a rock-on-the-ground metaphor,
not a descriptive target: a white, porous
igneous outcast atop a scaly wind-blown
nob here in the cowboy Big Bend
in mysterious Springtime. It
stimulates. Does it recognize
something of its firey history
or the bottom of the swaying Sea,
or a bit of a bright Star – its ancestry?
No matter, of itself it is enough.
Ok, let’s be real, it is a rock
on the ground in the Cosmos.
It is white, porous, igneous.
The rock can never know
the rising Sun, the waning Moon,
the ten thousand waves, but there
is this rock in my mind, too,
not on the ground, and this
mysterious non-stop, air-like chorus
accompanying all this and more.
I want to be on the bottom of the swaying Sea.
Great imagery, amigo.
Same sensitive, insightful Roy I knew at UTA in the early ’70s. Love your work!