A New Poem: Go Through The Hills

Go Through the Hills

by Stephen Pickering

You are my tree.
because you have set me free.
An orchard garden grows
on land that once only snowed.

I’m under a spell
Only Ishtar can undo
Down, down her Roman well
I’m falling too.

I am the bird.
My life is the worm.
I see her cold, dark eye
bury me in the blood red sky.

There’s a tick.
The doors unlock.
I’m just a hick,
but I know when angels knock.

I don’t deserve this.
But here I am:
An Italian mist
Where Dante swam.

There’s a nickel sky,
and a lone star.
Gray clouds cry
wondering where you are.

That girl will come.
I feel her blinking again.
A bouncing little Sun.
She knows exactly where I am.

These beings inside
If you climb their stare
Feed the stillness of the night,
the castle that’s always been there.

I cannot breathe.
Your eyes are the hidden stone.
The gateless gate to the golden stream.
Unfold the night no man’s known.

©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

The Element U

Something’s going on that wants to be known, a presence.
It wants you to make your connection.
What do you think is really underneath the veil?
Something very deep.
Deeper than history, deeper than tomorrow, deeper than now.
That’s the secret, secret, secret voice
that never comes out during the day.
I’m with you: I don’t want it to ever go away.

Sonnet #9 in Iambic Tetrameter –

I think I’m wrong about the song.
I didn’t feel that you would come.
Please tell the notes that don’t belong
That winter’s bone remains unsung.

I feel it on the inside grow.
So, could a man become a god?
Don’t let this meditation go.
Just follow it no matter what.

This isn’t where I want to be.
My heart is feeling very sore.
You know the site I want to see?
Three graces dancing at my door.

What is it that I’m running from?
Those angels say to let it come.


Sonnet #11

We have eternal ‘monicas that sing.
An icy cloud is growing over the South.
Out of the woods the Sun creates a ring
Though which the river dances in its mouth.

We’ve rowed this dream one hundred times before.
We’re made of the same blood that’s in the stars.
What does it take to sail through the gold door
Back to a life that always has been ours?

The pink clouds are the signal you sent up.
There’s something missing from this story line.
There must be something in that holy cup.
The same as Gilgamesh’s sacred vine.

We dive below that sea on every night
That Tristan oneday sees her sail is white.

©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

Sonnet #3 in Iambic Trimeter

Those Canadien snow geese are the soul
The azaleas in the Spring
They have nowhere to go
But one can hear them sing.

That was a little poetical fragment that came to me on a walk just now, in the gorgeous springtime air, of course a little Starbucks influenced as well as the air, water, Sun, geese, birds singing. Maybe I’ll make it into a longer piece, or maybe I’ll just leave it as it is. Feels honest. Anyway, below is my latest “Sonnet” installment

Sonnet #3 in Iambic Trimeter

We can not face ourselves.
There has to be a way.
We’re grasping for the trails
Of fairies on the lake.

I wanted you to know
We’re oxygen that see
A blanket in the snow
Of flying wild white geese.

We have too many things.
Sight blinded by two eyes.
The trails go out in rings
Soul’s wings that spray the skies.

When we accept this ride
Then Isis is our bride.

©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

Sonnet #8 in Iambic Tetrameter – A White Hart

What do we find ourselves inside?
The Roman army’s moving north.
A sacrifice the snake won’t die.
The oblations smoke is rising fourth.

Wish you could fall in love with me.
The sacrament’s the gateless gate.
I could turn you back from a stream
Fulfilling or escaping fate.

The Garden’s walls are Persian blue
Aladdin’s castle’s Spanish bound.
It all comes down to me or you
If secrets hid are ever found.

Our Jinn fall down a Roman well.
The white hart runs without a trail.

©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

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