POETRY
The poetry that I've written has received a lot of hits on my blog, so I decided to find out which three poems had more hits than any of the others and publish them in this post.
The first is the top all-time for hits. It's titled The Tent and is a bit seductive, as it talks about a couple in the wild (no pun intended!). The second is The Candle Flame. It is not only about a candle but about the overpowering allure of a flame. The third is one of my favorites. I wrote it for a dear friend who I imagined was riding with me on a tour bus through Ireland. I actually took the trip, and I thought about her a great deal. The provocative Irish landscape had a strong effect on me that cold, winter day as well as the Irishman who drove the bus. As we ambled along, he told many stories, and I noticed that he often repeated lines as he spoke. It almost sounded as if he were using rhythm and meter. The last poem is titled Her Magical Irish Sweater. I hope you enjoy them.
The Tent
Tent Image from:
Baker, Adam. Spooky Tent. Digital image. Flickr. N.p., 1 Apr. 2010. Web. 22 Feb. 2014.
The first is the top all-time for hits. It's titled The Tent and is a bit seductive, as it talks about a couple in the wild (no pun intended!). The second is The Candle Flame. It is not only about a candle but about the overpowering allure of a flame. The third is one of my favorites. I wrote it for a dear friend who I imagined was riding with me on a tour bus through Ireland. I actually took the trip, and I thought about her a great deal. The provocative Irish landscape had a strong effect on me that cold, winter day as well as the Irishman who drove the bus. As we ambled along, he told many stories, and I noticed that he often repeated lines as he spoke. It almost sounded as if he were using rhythm and meter. The last poem is titled Her Magical Irish Sweater. I hope you enjoy them.
(Baker)
The Tent
Eyelids closed within folds of fabric
Twitch and carefully part
Barely open
Barely seeing
Warm air quilts the skin
As cold surrounds the fabric
Of this down-filled, luxurious cocoon
The tent sits
Holds firm to the earth
Quietly surrounded by saguaro cactus
Cliffrose and desert paintbrush
Milkweed and crucifixion thorn
Solar particles dance
In mathematical precision
In the air
And cause my eyes to blink
And my arms to stretch and escape
Beyond the comfort of home
My hands press the ground
Aiding soul and body
To rise together
With the morning
The cactus wren and Gambel’s quail
Click and scratch a living
Bringing me awake
Sliding my nose and chin and head outside
I’m blinded by the glorious day
Crawling out
As a dog from a hut
On all fours stretching, yawning, rubbing, scratching
Glancing back at the geometric shelter
The thin protector
Like a tortoise
Carried on my back
There and ready to fold into
In the night
With complete simplicity
And connection to the ancients
I scrape the pebbles from my palms
And stand upright
Surveying the landscape
Of the new day
Food urges grumble and move me
To set out nuts and berries and grains
And warm aromatic beans of liquid joy
To sample and devour when ready
Yoga-style on the ground with fingers
Juices running down my chin
A soft sound
Stirs the desert
A wonderful sigh
Spooks the wren
A movement
Ripples the tent
And tempts
Wiping away berry juice and brown aroma
My lips part and smile
Sliding fingers between the folds of fabric
And peering inside the tent
A hand slowly reaches out and caresses me
The other sleepily beckons
To the warmth of skin and fabric
And the familiar touch of joy
Naturally warming the body’s furnace
And igniting the tent
With pleasure
And the soft sighs of love
In the desert air
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2007
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2007
Baker, Adam. Spooky Tent. Digital image. Flickr. N.p., 1 Apr. 2010. Web. 22 Feb. 2014.
(Cain)
The Candle Flame
The calm
The music plays
Meditative, ancestral thoughts
Oh soft, luxurious flame
Reminiscent of wind
Who is speaking
Even closing my eyes
A candle flame
The candle flame
The calm
In a candle flame
Casting warmth on the walls
In a darkened room
The music plays
The mind wanders
The candle
Constantly confined
Yet serenely there
With me
Meditative, ancestral thoughts
Pervade and pause
In truth
Oh soft, luxurious flame
Oh round, aspiring flame
Oh small, pinpoint in the night
Take my soul
Take me
To the other side
Yet teach this side
Of existence
Reminiscent of wind
Of rain
Of dark
Of a moonlit night
In a forest
As your glow seeks out
My eyes
Reflecting back to someone
Who is speaking
Through the flame
Casting knowledge
Hope
Universal truths
While lying there
Just a fingertip away
Beyond my corporeal reach
Even closing my eyes
I see you there
With me
Surrounding me
Guiding me
Home
A candle flame
A hearth fire
Wood crackling
In a rock hewn wring
A tree with soft lights
At Christmas
The twinkling of windows
From a city
The soft glow in her eyes
As she smiles
The candle flame
Is
That peaceful place
I will understand
Someday
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2006
Image of Candle Flame:
Cain, Ricky. Candle Flame. Digital image. Ricky Cain. Flickr, 9 Sept. 2012. Web. 13 May 2014. <https://www.flickr.com/photos/ricky1146/7975340370/>
Creative Commons License Page: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/
(Dusseault)
Her Magical Irish Sweater
Irish green landscapes glide tangibly by
Winter wind and rain cleanse and expand the creative soul
And alongside this exquisite reverie
Extending tactilely, visually, lovingly
A magical sweater
Seamlessly, without pause
From that small, brilliant segment of time
Among those fibers of luscious animal fleece
Rock hewn fields
Quiet
Becalmed,
It's evening on the Burren's edge
A curved-winged gull paints segments
It's winter as it should be
And then without the knowing
I force my eyes to look there
Yet where so close
I gazed at it in wonder
Oh, could this Irish sweater
The burren knows the answer
But only this fine sweater
To unlock her Irish heart
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2005
Image of Sweater:
Dusseault, Lisa. Aran Jumper. Digital image. Wikipedia. Wikipedia, 19 Aug. 2003 Web. 09 Dec. 2013.
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2006
Image of Candle Flame:
Cain, Ricky. Candle Flame. Digital image. Ricky Cain. Flickr, 9 Sept. 2012. Web. 13 May 2014. <https://www.flickr.com/photos/ricky1146/7975340370/>
Creative Commons License Page: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/
Creative Commons License Page: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/
(Dusseault)
Her Magical Irish Sweater
Irish green landscapes glide tangibly by
In whimsical, melancholy shades and tones
Casting deep knowledge
Of old magic
Throughout my heart and life
Winter wind and rain cleanse and expand the creative soul
With a Burren of bare, harsh, minutely diverse flawlessness
Sharing ages and eons
Of billions of
Possibilities unknown
And alongside this exquisite reverie
I seem to feel the eyes and soul
Of a heart and love
So fine and true
As to bond and create
A sensual being
Of mind and body
A transformation
Of us, we two
Extending tactilely, visually, lovingly
Surrounding and holding her close
Touching first the garment
The braided, luxuriant wool
That lay on her skin
Keeping us negligibly apart,
Yet not
Her Irish sweater
A magical sweater
A mother lamb's gift
Enfolding her heart and dreams
Around love
Wrapping passions and life and mind
Into a womanly luxuriant package
Of deeply entwined
Fibers of wool
Seamlessly, without pause
As the kilometers flow by
As the limestone pads
Become reality
And permeate the day,
Along with myst and legend,
She and I
Find ourselves without concern
Touching, exploring, intermingling
Amidst the soft, slick, sensual fibers
Of her magical sweater
From that small, brilliant segment of time
Birds, plants, rocks, wind, sky, and rain
No longer exist beyond us
Environment and our singular forms fuse
Enduring without separation,
Without time
Among those fibers of luscious animal fleece
Our nerves and synapse explode and fire
Cinematizing thoughts, memories, and perceptions
As actuality, solubility, and existence itself
Alter our perception and mutate us
To a new dimension
Rock hewn fields
Her hands
Drops of rain
Our lips
Castles dripping with dew
A deep embrace
Ancient caves of limestone
Pulsing sweat and pleasure
Birds ebbing and coursing in flight
Bodies moving singly in union, in rhythm
Cliffs dizzily cascading vertically to the ocean
Eyes piercing, glazing and locking passionately
The ocean's power explodes against rock with magnificent spray and foam
Bodies lock and join in creational joy and dynamic flame
And dynamic flame
Quiet
Quiet
Rest
Becalmed,
Tranquil,
Silent
Becalmed
It's evening on the Burren's edge
The sunset rests the sea
While winds and rain and light subside
A lighthouse sits with me
A curved-winged gull paints segments
And arcs from shore to sky
But nature's there and I am here again
A window shades my eyes
It's winter as it should be
The world seems properly in place
But something's missing
Something's gone
And I cannot find its face
And then without the knowing
Or comprehending why
The digits on my left hand
Seek out the reason why
I force my eyes to look there
Where hand now knows the why
The magic of my love is gone
And emptiness abides
Yet where so close
She was with me
A soft, cream sweater lay
A textured present
That I know
I chose for her this day
I gazed at it in wonder
Thoughts churned and filled my head
My life and hers
Felt real to me
But a sweater sits instead
Oh, could this Irish sweater
With magic powers perform
A miracle
Transporting her
Back from ethereal form
The burren knows the answer
The Cliffs of Moher can say
The winds along the coastline
Can guide me on my way
The gulls can trace it in the sky
The rocks can teach the art
But only this fine sweater
Has the power
To unlock her Irish heart
Copyright © Bob Stegner 2005
Image of Sweater:
Dusseault, Lisa. Aran Jumper. Digital image. Wikipedia. Wikipedia, 19 Aug. 2003 Web. 09 Dec. 2013.
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