{"id":612,"date":"2009-07-27T20:34:17","date_gmt":"2009-07-28T01:34:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.stephenpickering.com\/?p=612"},"modified":"2009-10-06T00:47:03","modified_gmt":"2009-10-06T05:47:03","slug":"a-poem-the-she-lemon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stephenpickering.com\/wordpress\/2009\/07\/27\/a-poem-the-she-lemon\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem: “Where the Ring Comes Together”"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"Mountain<\/a><\/dt>\n
Image via Wikipedia<\/a><\/dd>\n<\/dl>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

I miss driving up that street
\nThe last in the land
\nWith winds singing up Harney Peak<\/a>.
\nA blue diamond cross
\nAnd a sailor’s sunburnt\u00a0hand
\nAre all that’s left
\nSpreading across the dry land.<\/p>\n

The night is thirsty for the juice
\nOf speech.
\nWoodmills chill the cherry bark;
\nThe pond of the mind has drained dry,
\nAnd all night long little crackleberry roosters
\nPray their way into\u00a0the candles of the sky.
\nIt’s blue. But what isn’t?
\nThe candle burns the cathedral
\nHeaded skulls through the mud, and what’s left of a town
\nRun by the rocky mountain<\/a> weeds
\nCovering their faces at dawn.
\n(Oh teacher! Teacher! You taught me, but now its no fun!)<\/p>\n

Who knew. Who knew? “Zu” knew. That’s who!
\nThat’s it, we are climbing into the big Benz nude, only moonlight for a guide.
\nBut what, pray you, have we got to hide?
\nShills whispering sermons up ribbon covered hills?
\nFor that we’ll take a dollar and climb it ourself.
\nToo bad for the Presidents. They didn’t see us live.
\nBut we could have seeded candy for them,
\nAnd the green in our forest<\/a> and the maple of our blanched cheeks
\nCould have penetrated their fossil tongues.<\/p>\n

On climber! You’re goodwill has been left out to rot.
\nBetter to make it before sun down when the heap in you
\nGripes out you’re lost.
\nCome home closer, or better yet, stand still, and forget everything,
\nExcept lusting the inside of this\u00a0rock<\/a>,
\nHas been wrong.<\/p>\n

They will claim me back from the marble<\/a> hill
\nFor referring back to the never ending stream,
\nThe one that runs uphill; to whispers that have no lips
\nHunting inside the heart’s canyon’s rim.
\nOff with their heads! I’ll say it again, and I’ll say it last:
\nSupper grows growling like a hood wrinkled owl
\nFrom the depths of the mind.
\nOf-quoted sister ant curls her arms around the wind.
\nIt’s cold up here.
\nWe’ve been freezing for years.
\nBut is that the past or the future?
\nPast present, past future
\nPass me the presents!
\nStill we’ll go down quietly back to our dove like
\nWhipper-will past. Let’s hope for a time at least (present, future?)
\nThe further in the vein we scamper,
\nWe’ll be able to hold her still.<\/p>\n

Still I’m confused. Who knew a climber could get so hungry?
\nEspecially when the higher he gets the lower he feeds.<\/p>\n

The bathing quilt whom the Sun<\/a> with his rays impregnated,
\nHer sons said to the spider woman,
\n“The lover of a lifetime.”<\/p>\n

And then she held the roots still,
\nUntil they became wicked and flew over mountains
\nThrough the balance of the circle from which they came.<\/p>\n

\u00a92009 Stephen Pickering<\/span><\/h6>\n
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