WROTE UNDER A WILLOW OAK (TO ONE TIRED OF THE TIRING)
"Mannered and obsolete", I hear them moan,
Wincing over words forming ocean's rove,
In smartly correct theories that reprove
Any effort past bland themes they condone.
Have we words with secret lives of their own,
Huddled, shrinking from our meek dread of love,
In cold and dripping caves, who cannot move
Beyond the clapping hand of cliched koan?
Pure faith in the sweet pull of dendric ache
Reveals such lore each limbed hard holds within
Her sweet cascade of lissome Summer's chime.
There, we'll give more than they could dream to take
In soft dalliance with firmer rules' ken.
Pulsing Nature's touch pours out rhyme and time.
Copyright (C) 2012 William Mark Gabriel. All Rights Reserved.
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