Saturday, April 22, 2017

The Road Rolled Out Before Me

South Bank at Humber, by N J Lunn Photography
The road rolled out before me,
  the blue sky decked with clouds,
The green, green earth a-fore me,
  as I race my cycle proud!

Down the lane and past old trees,
  down the vacant roadway passage;
Distant birds sang loud whilst the breeze
  whispered me its message.
 
       Down, down, down...
         slow, slow, slow...
            turn, turn turn...
                listen to the heartbeat.
        
The heartbeat!
  Yes, I know that sure;
     I know the calling of my heartbeat.
The call of long
  forgotten roads
     and a longing that would entreat!

Ah, yes, here I ride, and here I wend,
   and here I joy with rapture;
And here I ride and here I bend
    my heart to nature captured!

- D. Benning

Thursday, April 20, 2017

A Rock, A Stone, A Pebble




A rock,
  a stone,
     from mountain broken
carried down by gravity and time
  —and chance!—yes, always chance—

For there upon your lofty perch
   while viewed you hills and woods and life beneath you
   and overhead the starry nights
                  and sun-spangled-days
                  with clouds and wind
                  and ice and sprays
   turned ever on their dial
       for many long ages and a while
   until you cracked and splintered from your high-topped perch;
       you started, slumped and lurched
       before you tumbled, rumbled, stumbled—
       yes! and dashed and crashed and smashed
           down the incline
                         to your eventual decline
   where you rested before chance brought you lower still—
       lower than the hill under gray of night and fog that chilled
            you to the ambient temperature
                                 of mud
                                     and clay
                            and water, dirt and spray;
    and ocean's happiness was to pound you hard with billowy wave,
         like ruffian knave
             a beating gave
                and ensconced you within
                    a sandy grave
    where time and toil
       —and chance!—yes, always chance—
    left your jagged angularity muted by the restless flow
        and softened edges, rounded now, new-spun shape from beauty's brow,
    now polished, honed and smoothed
       —by quiet waves now soothed—
I pick you up and contemplate your form,
    your beauty and your troubled past.
Gone are the perils and waves and storms,
    all that's left of your tumults vast
               are the polished edges of your grace
                   and elegance, and artistry and comeliness.
It was not chance, though, that brought you here,
    but God, the artist, working to endear:
So now, no mere stone on lofty height,
  but polished pebble of my own delight.

- D. Benning


Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Thus the Sun

Thus the sun sat slowly in the far west
  Dipping down below the rim;
Cloudless sky crowns glowing crest
  As daylight drops and starts to dim.
 
Far horizon greets the sunset,
  Nearby river whispers grace;
Trees before assess their deep debt
  As sun rushes off in splendid race.

- D. Benning

Kim Loftis, https://www.facebook.com/kim.a.loftis

Owl at Blue Cypress Lake

Yes, I see your vain intrusions
  Peering at my lofty perch;
Think you'd be a master of illusions
  Avoiding me within the woods and birch?
 
Yes, I see all that you do down there before me,
  Fluttering in your carpet of din;
But I sit up here in my own tree
  And laugh at all you do therein.

- D. Benning

Photo by Gisele Roy, https://www.facebook.com/gisele.roy.750