Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Friday, April 15, 2011



Lightly, late sunlight is glittering bright,
Goldening glistenings on the small stream;
Lightly as light, even lighter than light
Breeze that is brushing the ripples that gleam.

From the light sky, from high clouds that bright sun
Called into being, the free raindrops flow-
Seeping from hillsides they finally come
Down to the path of the valley below;

Down to one path that is always the low;
Following gravity's down-given course,
Yielding to overcome; letting them flow
Onward and onward, without using force.

Silky oak leaf-cluster patterns are bold,
Lit by the lowering shafts of day's beams;
Slow-rustling gum trees shimmer white gold,
Gleaming with sun on their foresting greens.

What is a stream but the flowing- the growing
Form of the flowing forever ongoing,
Leaving its legacy shaping the ground,
Like a slow, snaking shape oceanward-bound?

What is its shimmering beauty but glowing?
Mirroring heaven-set heart of the light?
Water takes coursing without any forcing,
Gathering shining in passing my sight.

Small waterdragon swift-slides with a slither
Into the water's concealing, safe flowing;
While a black wood duck slow-glides with a shimmer,
Rippled in vee-shapes that follow her going.

Standing in silence now, in the late light,
Watching in silence the green and gold sight,
Dappling of shadow and shine on the scene,
Gurgle and trilling and gush of the stream,

I am hearing its music; soft sounds' imbrication;
I am seeing its intricate dancing of light:
Sight of a moving through stillness and quiet,
Sound of a flowing through silent creation.


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