October – November 6th, 2020

I.
To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet
While Reading Elegant English Sonnets
It Would be a Wonderful Power
One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour
With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend
Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen
The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery
And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me
II.
Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles
We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth
During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon
But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail
We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak
There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice
Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes
The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside
We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the ***** Incline
Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us
What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon
We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures
III.
Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend
Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes
The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows
Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest
We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved
Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light
A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight
Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions
Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning
A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away
The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain
And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon
Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders
Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders
Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins
But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us
In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire
Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather
The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us
IV.
My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze
Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide
Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment
I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below
And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight
My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze
Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk
Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand
For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls
Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction
Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat
When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh
The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials
Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair
Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways
Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height
The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning
Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion
Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled
We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells
V.
Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak
My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea
Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair
All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate
At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky
Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment
Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure
Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine
It Would Be a Sensational Scene
My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees
Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon
My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites
Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers
Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew
Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors
Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground
My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest
Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast
We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars
In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting
VI.
Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath
With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend
We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb
My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes
We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology
I would Have Reached So Many Listeners,
Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed
Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets
Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales
My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift
To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift

High on the cliff path:
my fingers in wind
freshly passed across
the pewter sea
holding this pen, cold,
cold, colder now
with the sight of rain
fleeing the hills
of County Wicklow
 
I turn expecting to see
your profile
framed against Lyn's
sock rolled up to the calf
of Snowdon, then
nestling here against the toes
at the foot of Uchmynedd
I seek your hand and there is
only dry gorse, reluctant heather
 
Below these cliffs
swept by gulls and ravens
the sea touches the rocky base
in an endless, restless, breathless
turn and reflect, back, swept again,
swept back, restless, no end
only, only
a cold, cold kissing of the land

She was an argonaut
that paper nautilus discreet
where an edict for office
still home for a style
if their buzz did set a trend
that syndicated grams  
and lingered with a spruce Cabernet
while it torched their foray  
that whirred travel to the dale
of Welsh Mount Snowdon  
where I sought Kopechne
if squires didn't vaunt missions
with these measured students
and were really left behind!