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Clouds are White...Wikipedia
The night lay white beneath the light of black on white
where stars
Washed the swirled colors of the world to far and foreign
bars
Beneath a canopy of moonless midnight people sleep
Save for the white-faced poet with a white-spaced charge to
keep
The sound of silence slides along the fence-line, street and
lane
It runs through white-washed meadows like a silk and satin
train
It pauses where the profile of white nothingness is marred
A little light to touch with gold the white-knighted
postcard
The dusty haze and musky ways of midnight in July
Are muffled by a diamond glaze that flutters from the sky
Its rests upon the rooftop and it nestles on the sill
And pours white whispers from a flask where poet’s drink
their fill
The clouds at night are not as white as clouds of middle-day
But wise-men snore their sagely snores as well on shores of gray
Among the stars a pontoon drifts where poets sift through white
And trawl the rise and falling call of one more poem to write
© Janet Martin
I'm afraid I "snored my sagely snores" while you wrote this poem..
ReplyDeleteI cannot pick my favorite line - such beautiful words. Magic.
...and I know you feel better than I do for it this morning;-)
ReplyDeleteEvery so often I need to write at middle-night. Thought feels words differently at the high-arc of dark:)
Having just ridden a train... "a silk and satin train" - I really like that line.
ReplyDeleteOn the return trip I have a habit of sitting the opposite way and end up seeing where I have been.
I like that silk and satin train... (of a white wedding dress down the the back of the train of ones memory. Smooth.) Smooth like the "white whispers from a poets flask..."
Double well done!
...that's what the soft snow-fall seemed like last night, a white silk-satin train...I like your imagery:) Thank-you, Jules.
ReplyDelete