A Triptych of Island Poems

Change of pace now from our old master carver. Far from the people, places and events that set your mind on edge lie volumes of bucolic material, opportunities for advancement in the field of trying to understand and failing, but enjoying the ride a little more. Let’s not get all university here. It’s always an enjoyable ride and if there’s anything to be grateful for it’s the vast variety of experience even if we’re locked in continuum jail followed by XX. It’s the gentleman amateur’s way.
Tonight’s contestants are three fabulous songs bolted together by time. Time has softened their contours but not lessened their ephemerality. If the poet captures a thousandth of what was possible let’s wave from the sidelines and shout, “Nice shot!” Efforts tell. Make poetry a part of your day.

BOUNDARY PASS

We never really exist
Life is with the immortals
Who see outside time
And have no being
And are just an idea
As you’re gazing on space
The wide open Pass
And the tall grass is shining
Just below in the vast

How many men have lived like me?
Dreamers, idealists
There has to be a place where we’re all stacked up
Okay, it’s an imaginary place
But there has to be a body-count of those who wished
But never were

Think of their places below on the slopes
All the diehard dopes
And all the dope we planted someone stole
And all the cutting we did to improve the view
And it’s grown over again
And it always happens

At the bottom of the hill
At the edge of the cliff
At a makeshift shrine
In the waving grass
We scattered the ash
That ecstasies abound
That it isn’t necessary
Or sound
To be an unrelenting catastrophic clown
Good advice

Haven’t seen orcas in a couple of years
They’re out there somewhere though, being successful
Recall one of the first times I came here
Ahead down the path comes this mysterious sound
The sound of orcas
Thought it was the wind or something in the trees
Phishoo!
Then the view opens up, this panoramic vision
And in the Pass a fine fresh pod of orcas splashing in the sun
Way out right through the middle of the Pass
The grass was high that trip too

Author: Steven Brown

Creative View all posts by Steven Brown