Friday, April 17, 2009

Bishop Pine

A sonnet, written at the edge of the Pacific while on vacation this morning:

Rooted at the cliff’s precipice
A solitary Bishop Pine leans
Back into the continent

Its lifeless seaside shoulder
A tangle of twigs and bare branches
Scrubbed gray by blasts of fog.

Dead wood that mysteriously
Shelters life in its lee—
Where slender, supple,
Paired needles quiver and nod greenly
Now, in a soft morning breeze
That whispers gently offshore

Under a last quarter moon
Sailing west to set just past noon.


Sarah Lulu said...

You made it so real for me I can smell it.

Delwyn said...

Its a good message Dan, that when we get a bit wind burned and scoured by the forces of nature we can still grow in the protection , on the lee side...with our back to the agents of harm...

I hope that you are enjoying your well earned break...

Katherine said...

Wow. Lovely. He writes poetry too!

Alden said...

Now you're talking (not that you weren't before of course!) but I love poetry and I enjoyed your poem - great stuff! Thankyou.

Dan Gurney said...

Sarah Lulu, I'm glad you liked the poem. Thanks for your appreciation of it. It occurred to me that it might have been a better poem had I thought to include a word about the olfactory sense.

Dan Gurney said...

Thanks, Delwyn. The break was thoroughly enjoyable and very refreshing. One more day, then back to work! Thank you for sharing your appreciation.

Dan Gurney said...

Katherine and Alden, you, too, thanks for commenting. It sure is encouraging to hear appreciations.