Saturday, February 1, 2014

Tom Hatch- A Poem

Roots of Resolution
In this suburban land of two
Acre zoning you can still find the divine
At sunrise grey sky thinking it was
Going to be sunny trees silhouette
Open sky like I said grey but a-little blue
The clouds horizontal more blue bands
Slight breeze spirit tears the rain off trees
From darkness of Morning I cannot
Say enough about the sounds of birds at
Dawn who the blue jay thinks is special
Across making more grey blue sky
In front of dark green wet trees
Mosquitos pin pricking at my ankles
Small fog lifts across the valley sound of big buzz
Not seen clouds scroll west stone
Bench drips from dimpled basin wild asters
Speck white from black stems standing
Between two cedars eyes talking distance
South Long Island Sound sitting on
Pre-revolutionary stone wall torsos
Float west fuzzy bottoms sponge of color
Sun usurped days command over dawn
Dimensional spurts take shape crude sounding
Bark chases erect white tailed deer in silence
Downhill woods fawn and buck wait

1 comment:

  1. The imagery is wonderful and quite visceral!

    Kim Bonaventure