The Poet Tells Of His Many Dreams

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:

I dreamt long, and many times of this place
I stand at its edge but may not enter
It casts its images hard upon the face
Of my soul, of interminable winter
And spring, autumn and high zenith time
And every bright star and winged word
All bright and wise and every rhyme
Form a great and multifarious herd
Word upon word and dance upon dance
Where all things merry court and play
The master in every idle glance
I would handle the door and go and lay
But I cannot because upon my lips
Are words that must be writ and spoken
I asked long, In midst of stormy trips
And torrents and dreams long broken
For a Word; that might be all things
To all men and at last no credit to me
Who too quick to the four winds wings
And is called upon by all who should be
And shock; and awe; and wonder and irony
Like the marvels of all things unseen
And broke chains against truth and beauty
And called men to he who has been
Away from fading lamps and looks
By silver moon to sun-gold liss
And on and on through old immortal books
Beyond what comes to he who is
But will this light cast upon my soul's face
Break the centuries' cold chained winter
As here I stand, before this place
I stand and wait; but may not enter!


  1. Riv,
    I was just thinking about you today...meaning to thank you for dropping a link to The Ochlophobist one day. This was some many months ago..I believe when Bob was talking about vB's Drama. Anyway, I think I'm hooked on The Och :-) This took some doing - or admitting. I noticed myself not really being able to disagree with much of anything he says. I just saw your comment at Doves and Pomegranates and said to me self "I need to wave to River."
    Hope you are well.
    aka Ricky Raccoon

  2. Rick, good to hear from you. We've yet many rivers to cross, it seems. Keep on keepin' on, as they used to say.


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