The Poetry Of.
Rick Marlatt.....................................................
Mother and Babe
(For Kina)
Like a glow
emerging
in diamond oiled canvas
the child
drifts to dream
in mother's slow,
cradled sway.
Afternoon stillness-
he knows not
the weight
of relentless memory,
stubborn screams of conscience.
Only the steady thump
of mother's heart
on his soft
soft
temple
now.
Confessions of the Sycamore
In a time
where legends
are borrowed,
prophets estimated,
when
search for soul spirit
begins in the brain
and absurdity feeds
at the mouth
of pettiness,
one tastes
peach cream pie
on lips
of sunrise
who has kissed
this rainbow-edged-leaf
before
the others
everyday this week.
Sledding
Journeys of the afternoon sledders would be nothing
without the ones who were here first
when purged heavens finally sealed their air locks
and the last flake jumped onto the pile with open mouth and arms
Apollo arched his mighty back and rose from the depths,
broad crown peeked over eastern edge the dawn of new day
brave powder plowers packers pioneered here
when this valley was a single pristine blanket where no mistakes had been made
history was enabled by their long strides and frozen sweat cries
shaped under smooth trails of snow, while they were just trying to get to the bottom
round discs sear down, pummel sets of bundled multi-children like greased bowling balls
into teetering pins who squeal, laugh, and go down hard
valley goddess cradles you on her fingertips you sit with silence on her peak,
stare down into her palm
your journey there is imminent
a trip that seems more mysterious and less terrible all the time.
You may be a sliding torpedo who takes out flailed legs of submarining bodies
blaze jet spray trails of blinding chaos
or a reluctant willow leaf that twirls and flutters safely soundly
to a final resting place separate from the others
eyes shut, you let gravity and nature conjure their sweet magic
Evergreens whiz past, achy climbers part, and snow burns like ice pick slash
at some point, you're not sure when or through whom you tilt tumble
end up on your back and laugh for absolutely no reason
the overturned sled sprawled careless and free
is your good dog lying next to you in white-silent bounty
for a moment you gulp good air hang under cool marshmallow clouds
overlooking a sea-sky as vast and ancient as the place you came from
your journey there is imminent
a trip that seems more mysterious and less terrible all the time.
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