Saturday, November 19, 2016

Robert Verdon, #362, dream boat

Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt,
Im Abendsonnenschein.

the hydroplane

my father

spent years building

in the garage

he sold unfinished

and perhaps at last

it swept metallic water

swiftly crossing

into unimaginable night


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. Nice. And this...


    by Sylvia Plath

    It is no night to drown in:
    A full moon, river lapsing
    Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,

    The blue water-mists dropping
    Scrim after scrim like fishnets
    Though fishermen are sleeping,

    The massive castle turrets
    Doubling themselves in a glass
    All stillness. Yet these shapes float

    Up toward me, troubling the face
    Of quiet. From the nadir
    They rise, their limbs ponderous

    With richness, hair heavier
    Than sculptured marble. They sing
    Of a world more full and clear

    Than can be. Sisters, your song
    Bears a burden too weighty
    For the whorled ear's listening

    Here, in a well-steered country,
    Under a balanced ruler.
    Deranging by harmony

    Beyond the mundane order,
    Your voices lay siege. You lodge
    On the pitched reefs of nightmare,

    Promising sure harborage;
    By day, descant from borders
    Of hebetude, from the ledge

    Also of high windows. Worse
    Even than your maddening
    Song, your silence. At the source

    Of your ice-hearted calling-
    Drunkenness of the great depths.
    O river, I see drifting

    Deep in your flux of silver
    Those great goddesses of peace.
    Stone, stone, ferry me down there.

  3. I'm in good company. Hope I can live up to it!


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