THE ATLAS

a poem by Adam Archer, Australia

There is solitude and solace here
Driving through unexplored backcountry
Navigating a myriad of road maps,
Those thin lines drawn in vernier like topography
All intersect with paths of other ilk –
To see life depicted in a pocketbook amassed with
Milestones, crossroads, gridlocks, scenic routes…breakdowns,
Our existence mirrored within such maps travelled

Gilded hills of canola fields carpet splendid sloping views
That grade beyond the line of sight,
These rolling milieus gently wave and oscillate
In the slightest breeze;
Acres of arable land present like agrarian art,
Hand driven tractors cultivate farm scapes
With thread and needle like precision;
Livestock pepper surrounding burgeon pastures

A springtide cherry blossoms’ flit is short lived,
Wandering from its birthplace
Paying court to midair migration,
As if to waltz on a soft violin overture
In brevity they playfully tittup –
Then, happen upon a resting place,
The whiteout bears much resemblance to the snows of winter,
Every which way, fleeced in white

To be continued…

© Adam Archer 2016

N.B. "The Atlas" poem consists of twelve narrative free verse stanzas. Due to the expansive nature of the poem, I have elected to post three stanzas at a time during one post. Thank you for stopping by.

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