My friend L. L. Barkat FINALLY discovered the beauty of Texas this past week at Laity Lodge. She also challenged Jim Martin and me to post something we had written while we were there. [UPDATE: my friend, Tod Bolsinger joined the game too, and here's a link to his post.]
L. L. posted about the stairs. For me, Laity is more about ascending cliffs than climbing stairs. So I worked on this old poem I wrote about circle bluff–and my mixed emotions about the way we rush out to nature to get a quick fix, then rush back to our busy lives.
The poem isn’t really finished. It’s the end of a sonnet, but I haven’t written the last 6 lines yet. Maybe I never will. But I did record a reading of it because I believe poetry is essentially oral. So here’s the front-half octave of a sonnet with no title.
(Don’t complain. It’s free poetry. Beggars can’t be choosers. You want the real thing? Go subscribe to 32 Poems.)
A limestone cliff shows the end of the climb
though most never notice the gradual incline
that leads us here. Each step feels more or less
normal, doesn’t wind us or try us. We pass
boulders without stopping and mossy logs,
perfect resting spots. When our tired legs caught
on tree roots or loose rocks, we blamed terrain.
On top, we snap shots, check watches, descend again.
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