This simple student of the written word
To whom prose shuns expression to indite,
A would-be bard panged where acumen erred
At the gallimaufries of focus respite!
In the primary hours of daylight
This reminds me of what I am made,
Such mosaics of weather, forms by twilight,
Still some rudiment’ry syntax hadst strayed;
Thence becomes the last vestige of linguistic aid:
What to do, to wrestle with the concept!
Perhaps harken to the fanfare, rainy;
Expressly percussion sounds turn windswept -
Still concluded this day is yet to be!
In part, she appears through the greenery -
She who carries my unborn and my heart;
The day evolves mulling o’er cups of tea,
From porcelain, its infused blends impart
Beclouded coalesced milk as Jovian art:
Under the gazebo at dawn’s first light
A bird peeps through the diamond trellis,
Farther, sparse clouds curtail the daystar’s might;
Though flaunts tumbling petite gems so aimless.
Heed! the sun shower and its opaqueness;
Its hither and thither declivity,
Their Brownian motions that barely chorus
Landing ‘pon a thousand leaves benignly -
Midst the writing nook alfresco activity:
My upturned twill collar traps my warm breath,
While a spider spins its web thread by thread,
Still, wayward focus would bring prose to its death
With mind’s enigmas as furtive as well-read.
Condensation meets with the slated stead
Downed from overhead wooded trusses, lay gird,
By amaranth dayspring, so the day ahead
As soft dense climes had by afternoon bettered.
Time hadst the sundial bluegreen patina, weathered:
O but when prosody evades the conscious mind
I perish the thought this verse may not to thee speak,
Yet, recognise the paradox henceforth entwined
Rhymes that deflect the depiction ‘hide and seek.’
Shalt vague musings bid a nature critique?
Whence words of beauty everywhere I look,
Pondering ‘pon my communicate technique
I think on all the narratives that it took
While the day is spent scribing midst the writing nook.
© Adam Archer 2020