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Across the Bridge












Adrift Throughout the Day

 

I awoke this morning with a song

--Where Have All the Flowers Gone

the Kingston Trio version from ‘62

 

playing in a loop through my groggy mind,  

which by noon had drifted on a humid

breeze into scribbled notes for this poem,

 

soon eddying into a murmuring afternoon

bike ride on the Spanish Moss Trail

where it took what some might say a wicked

 

turn into Where Have All the Clergy Gone?

an odd refrain to ponder over a 5 o’clock glass

of wine on the side porch, the two of us

 

swatting no-see-ums, the melody dragging

me by the ear into an eclipse of dark

wonder wondering why the anointed

 

guardians of our souls, with no obligation

under the setting sun but to lift the fallen,

feed the hungry, comfort the bereft, shine

 

a light on a path, among so many paths,

to goodness, to kindness, to righteousness,

would abandon us on the cross

 

of their blasphemies, telling us who is not

loved, who is not chosen, who is doomed,

in turn turning us against each other, turning

 

their backs on us to follow the drum beat

of two-bit Lucifers and Antichrists all

around the looping world adrift in darkness

 

even as I drift off to sleep, this ear worm

burrowing into dreams of the boy I left

behind a long time ago, the one

 

who still believes we are all innocent

children, sisters and brothers adrift

on a spinning planet, long time passing.

 

            –SL, Port Royal, SC, April 2024


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9 comentários


skiwaves
17 de abr.

From my experience, no-see-ums are attracted to red wine. Your words lift me!

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write4hire
19 de abr.
Respondendo a

And I, in turn, am lifted by knowing you are reading my words. Thank you, my friend.

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write4hire
16 de abr.

So gratified that you're on for the ride, Mourka!

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margarita meyendorff
margarita meyendorff
16 de abr.

How well you articulate what I feel and believe. Thank you. Very strong images of the Spanish Moss ride and the glass of wine in the evening. Been there, done that, hopefully again and again. Mourka

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write4hire
17 de abr.
Respondendo a

So gratified that you're on for the ride, Mourka!

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Larry Winters
Larry Winters
14 de abr.

Those of the cloth are no different then those of Politic all of them looking outside for the answers to why they feel so weak and unloved.

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write4hire
16 de abr.
Respondendo a

So very sad.

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Wendy Townsend
Wendy Townsend
14 de abr.

Holy Smokes. Words for what I feel. This poem and the couple of paragraphs in the email notification are congruous as I'm reading Carl Safina's ALFIE AND ME: WHAT OWLS KNOW, WHAT HUMANS BELIEVE.

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write4hire
16 de abr.
Respondendo a

Thanks so much for the confirmation, my friend!

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