My mouth holds round The soft dove sound @3Ocoee, Ocoee@1, Like puffs discharged From the valved stack Of some afternoon Machine silenced By distance, As under the dislodged Mast of great beeches, I prospect loam, Celts, boatstones, Bird arrows, gnome's Mud face (where maypops Still grow in spring) Till I am sleeved in Black mold that shelves Suddenly down To sulphate water Under leached mountains And doves call Leagues away on The branch I hold to, Kneeling down. http://www.wlu.edu/~shenano | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWILIGHT COMES by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON HUNTINGDON'S 'MIRANDA' by SIDNEY LANIER THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK (SPOKEN BY A CITIZEN OF MALTA - 1300) by EMMA LAZARUS BALLROOM DARK by CLARENCE MAJOR JOHNNY APPLESEED by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALBERT SCHIRDING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |