In the evening one small child
begs "excuse me" to the garden.
Longs to leave the ones all grown
sitting to watch the dying light.
He's no time to stop and wonder
what he's left; he wants to run.
From the table he will run -
slamming doors will mark the child.
Mother stands to see with wonder
her heart moving through the garden.
His head crowns the long day's light.
What that's planted now will grow?
Lettuce, peas, tomatoes, growing
midst the weeds in endless run,
reaching towards the rising light,
arching over her laughing child.
His the kingdom of this garden
showing all he dreams in wonder.
Live and breath - here's the wonder:
on each other's will they grow.
She fills table; him the garden
neither one alone can run.
When she welcomed home a child
she discovered fire and light.
Suddenly her anger lights;
his defiance leaving wonder.
Who can stand to bear a child -
every atom drawn to growth.
Then one day he'll leave and run
past the wall of tended garden.
Now he crashes through the garden
gathering glow, attracting light.
Earth is tilting, stars are running;
moon is rising to our wonder.
Pea pods on the vine are growing
all in orbit of this child.
Open garden gate and wonder
at the light from all things growing,
bursting, running with this child.
I've been studying the sestina form with some of my poetry princesses. This is my first serious attempt that I am willing to share. It's very difficult to use the same six words over and over in a complicated pattern and still say something meaningful while painting a picture. I need a lot of practice if I am going to keep up with the princesses.
More explanation of the form:
Craft of Poetry course at Univ. Northern Iowa, 2001: Damon McLaughlin
The Friday Poetry roundup is hosted at Biblio File this week. Enjoy!