RR
28th January 2007, 02:39 PM
Poetry Column
- Querida
The Imp
an imp
it stares at me from far;
under the thrushes,
beneath the brambley bushes,
it looks, and looks, and looks,
it pleads for a glimpse back...
yet i fear i will see nothing:
but figment;
or a reality,
in imagination.
<hr>
There are no clouds, but clouds
the clouds
they do not
make pictures
any more.
all is just fluff,
where no kingdoms
dwell.
no more are they
pillows for all,
the swiftly swept
rabbits.
the wispy smoke,
of majestic dragons
are no more there...
than,
the cottony changelings
that fly to melt into new beings.
no swirls but cirrus,
all accumulations of wandering visions...
are now still as
culmulus.
the fish of the sea no longer skim the skies...
only stratus aligns along.
lenticulars
no longer,
lend the their lens,
into the heavens above.
- Querida
The Imp
an imp
it stares at me from far;
under the thrushes,
beneath the brambley bushes,
it looks, and looks, and looks,
it pleads for a glimpse back...
yet i fear i will see nothing:
but figment;
or a reality,
in imagination.
<hr>
There are no clouds, but clouds
the clouds
they do not
make pictures
any more.
all is just fluff,
where no kingdoms
dwell.
no more are they
pillows for all,
the swiftly swept
rabbits.
the wispy smoke,
of majestic dragons
are no more there...
than,
the cottony changelings
that fly to melt into new beings.
no swirls but cirrus,
all accumulations of wandering visions...
are now still as
culmulus.
the fish of the sea no longer skim the skies...
only stratus aligns along.
lenticulars
no longer,
lend the their lens,
into the heavens above.