The Pond Poem by Rubius Nox

The Pond

Rating: 4.0


Parables prickle around the wetted reeds,
As gilded semibreves they lengthen,
pleasing the shallow smith.
‘Paludal lutes sing’
‘Paludal lutes sing’
Warty bassoons and oboed balloons,
jest and bandy in tents of mist,
as thick as mountain heathers.

The Pond is patient and yearning.

Mossed and tepid, cups pour at my toes,
At my calves, algal tongue buds wriggle,
and more as I wade to its deep.
Ruddy, runs the pestled bark of its hollow.
Holding at my fragile and primitive nude,
its sun guzzled bladder accepts another.

The Canopy looks on, agape.

Toward ruining stones I float, a whisper disturbs at my blind stroke,
Lulling the leaves to follow my end,
into the quiet waters.
The invocation gathers and musters a chaos-
to beckon the curious and fear bearing,
to follow my end,
into most safe and quiet waters.
A passant doe verges, blushing the verdure.
She had gone far enough and now returning,
is greeted with a dimmed ginger,
Falling complete in oaken shadows, upon her dappled fur.

The Woods are far and ever changing.

Storming, blurring the open pine,
At our known and closing brevity,
Stomping the stepping stones of earth,
An art occluded but to the lynx and gazelle.
She carries me wild upon ear- skirting a lullaby in flight,
Trailing until I am lost, a forgotten comet, a fading spectacle,
Until desire summons itself once more.
Bathing in the pastel afterglow of a wonder beheld,
I gaze stout from the pitted swamp with pride,
For we are the steady axis and the nimble brink.

We make the land.

Friday, July 17, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: landscape
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The conservative core and avant-garde satellites shaping socioscapes and dendrites alike. An archetype in free-verse i wished to convey.
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