Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there, I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air…. Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace. Where never lark, or even eagle flew — And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, – Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr, RCAF, 1941
Our blousey algebraist rose has scrambled, fingers outstretched up into trees, along the fence, twisted through a rival honeysuckle like frantic cancer. After years of decorous ornamenting a strike for sovereignty, a garden takeover. So I now prune and clip, curtail the party while mourning all these soft pink flowers.
Very slowly burning, the big forest tree stands in the slight hollow of the snow melted around it by the mild, long heat of its being and its will to be root, trunk, branch, leaf, and know earth dark, sun light, wind touch, bird song.
Rootless and restless and warmblooded, we blaze in the flare that blinds us to that slow, tall, fraternal fire of life as strong now as in the seedling two centuries ago.
This poem is in the form of a naani poem. Naani means: expressing one and all in theTelugu language. This form originated in India from the Telugu poet, Dr. N. Gopi. A naani has four lines with a total of 20-25 syllables and no title. It was written for Rebecca over at Fake Flamenco as part of her June Poetry Challenge :
Grey dawn is a stranger Yet I remember Gulls on a clay flat beach Frost sparkling a forbidden lawn
The Earth’s sweet turning has roused newborn Dawn from her Ocean cradle light caresses waters suffuses the island haloes great Pico that looms across the strait enwrapped by rose clouds reaching to a pale zenith held in awe by all who gaze on her she slumbers still
Fathoms of microcreatures that once lived bright lives in an ancient topographic ocean died, drifted, finally settled into dark abyssal depths in unfathomable time they dried, were compressed, eventually uplifted became the chalk that now underlies the rich flowery turf of my beloved hills