Talk Thursday: Poetry And Prose

Don posted a Talk Thursday topic on Poetry and Prose. Poetry makes my heart sing. To craft a poem makes me feel complete, but I play by some sense of poetry rules. When I first hit the internet Psam introduced me to her Friday night poetry group. At the end of each session a topic would be named for the following night, usually a phrase, and the challenge would be on.

Sunday mornings back then were quiet in my house. I would wake up, pour myself a cup of coffee and sneak off to my computer and craft a poem based on the week's topic. I would endlessly read each and every line over and over, knowing that I could not move on to the next line until the former was complete. One of the poems that I crafted back in those early days remains a perfect in my heart, a window to how the wind and nature speaks to my core.

The Elementals

The morning mist sets on the moors,
above the heather wet,
and holds the light close to the ground
the moist, damp air its net.
The churning waves sent from the sea
batter the rocky beach,
the salt spray flies to meet the mist
where moors and ocean reach.
I raise my arms up to the sky
in praise, my morning rite,
drink of the day into my soul,
of salt spray, moor, and light.

The mid day sun rides on the sky
where Gulls and Petrel soar,
fields of blue, are the air and sea,
mauve, heather on the moors.
The foam peaked waves, crash to the sand
below the granite cliffs,
where churning winds, gear up to rage,
a gale wind strong and stiff.
I raise my face up to the sun,
drink in the wind and light
its strength and peace rain over me
I breathe eternal might.

The western sun has gone away,
dusk heralds in the night,
a storm brews strong upon the sea,
waves gather strength and height.
Dark churning clouds are rumbling deep,
and flash with brilliant light.
Tempest winds howl over cliff and land
and blow with all their might.
I stand and breathe the elements,
drink in the raging sight.
its pain and brute force bolsters me
in life's continual fight.

The morning mist lays on the greens,
a bonney day begins,
the birds are winging on the sky,
the bees are buzzing hymns.
The churning ocean will reach the cliffs
and kiss the basaltic rock.
The breeze will freshen on the bay,
and ruffle on the loche.
I stand in awe, in silent peace,
I bow my head to pray,
for the wind and rain, sun and mist,
I thank God, every day.

© 20 July 2000 Calista Cates-Stanturf