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Far from the feast of nine delights
From full ponds lillied in shimmering light
And boastful gods in vineyard white
We whisper approaching dawn
Where trading men aggravated smile
Fragrant flocks of tittering doves
Join hands on high stairs while
Senators hurl their incisive air, here
Far from there we pray on
Cool sitting streams where librarians stand
Great pantheons of rich theatre reach
From markets of carpets and tables of fish
Berries and fruit of every color rest
Far memories loud trumpets sound
Fine dark and pale steeds stabled by breed
Near sheep covered hills we stand among
Sweet pearls never gone from the silent ranks
Far from there,
Far from here, unhilt
Our song
Far from the feast of nine delights
From full ponds lillied in shimmering light
And boastful gods in vineyard whites
Swords at their front, we leap
To far ponds
Far from the fight
Tailor Bell
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Far Ponds by Tailor Bell)
Linda Ori (12/17/2006 12:04:00 PM)
I may be off the mark, here, Tailor, but I think we sit here in our carefree lives while others are far off fighting for our freedom to do just that. Wonderful imagery - dream-like quality. Took me on a scenic voyage to beautiful ponds and rolling hills - far from the battlefields and stark reality of another place. Brilliant piece of work, Tailor!
Linda |
Not a member No 4 (12/17/2006 11:04:00 AM)
Sorry, just having another crack at this. Hope you don't mind! ! I love the palpable 'sensation' of distance (not necessarily in or from this world) that you manage to create, and the vague echoes of Coleridge. You've managed to endow phrases such as 'we pray on' and 'boastful gods' with great import. All in all, it's simply terrific poetry. jim (I may be back!) |
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