Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Saturday, May 02, 2015


                           AFTERNOON ROAD

A white- and westward-slanted sun,
its shattering of yellow light
through the pine tree needles,
darkly bunching,
and the undisciplined,
leaf-rousing air,
make me of a mood to sing
a wistful elegy for vanished wanderers.

I amble down afternoon's road-
the feel of country gravel.

Free sight, the breathing quiet,
leave thought to rove,
to muse on far-past folk,
of secrets sealed in silence:

of women wise in herbal lore
with soft, unspoken feeling for
the seasons' sacred ceremony,
affinities, antipathies, known only to
noumenal sight,
the rhythmic life of world
and powers that wax and wane
by cyclic moon's degree;

of students of lost alchemy,
the fires of forgotten chambers,
with small world and the great,
in qualities related,
the spirit of the matter;
for thus transmuting inner elements,
base metal into gold;

of storytellers and the singers,
the players of the tales of soul,
inspirited in imaged form;

the dawn of deeper light,
of time guides working through
the self-effacing culture fight.

And contemplating their forgotten paths,
in mellowed day's late light,
it seems they passed along
a meandering, afternoon road
towards obfuscating
enlightenment's night.

Did they listen into nature's song?
Did they gaze upon

the golden signpost to the sun?


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