Up Lookout Mountain

Upon the mountain is a little city
Founded upon the stone,
Bedrock heaped up out of earth
Woods lifting hoary branches to the sky
Clothing the unshakeable rock.

In shelter of forest, houses stand
Grafted into hard ground, fragile
Soil harbouring abundant life
Where wild things run in the shadows
God-curious man stations his young.

On this secluded mountain children
Of man flock to the precipice
Assemble at the peak excercising tongues
With thoughts in words and seeing visions
They hear voices speak of both faith and folly.

At the foot of the mount a big city
Invites the young sons to her streets
Where empty buildings beacon, beg
Invasion, the business of shopkeeping
In which man revives the empty vessel
At home with the muse who gives birth to thought.

A long time ago

As I read recently, there was a country called Kingsville from which a prince and princess were rescued by the grace of sovereign decrees. They were led to a land, like unto the promised land, by the sea. There they settled and carried on their work of which they complained often but had much else of which to be thankful.

Therefore I return to writing and offer here a few for the long absence.


Leaving Time

Wake up long after the alarm
Sleep so sweet, sickness follows,
The bitter taste of time lsot
Taints every waking moment
Negating beneficent hour half awake
Savouring soft morning pillow warmth

Now haste nips at sore heels,
Pounding the stairs, up and down
Hurry and pack, swiftly think,
Thoughts attack like dogs wrestling
Vie for dominion, all with torn ears--
And with bags packed, we slam the trunk.

Upon the road, questions riot
With did the door get locked?
And where's the key? Old habits
Prepared the way long before we left;
Racing through the city, we leave
Far behind our life in the last hour.

Only the alarm we failed to heed
Chases us and rings on in our head.