Poem XIX

[Brownlie]

I recently started writing poetry to assist my writing in other projects, this is a poem from my first collection of attempts. Thanks for reading.



XIX

Hark, the grand symphony of the Canyonlands! --Sounds like Walt Whitman
From flat ground you orchestrate your concert

Deep in timeless form,

Retarding my place in the present.

Your multitude of layers, weathered, --I like the idea of the layers that could be a good extended metaphor.

Exposes nature’s gallery of fine-arts;

As nothing compares in composition

To what has been shown beneath your cover.

Let the drainage from the High Colorado Rockies

Deform your face; Scar, mold, and wound.

Let the harsh winds and storm-clouds chagrin

Over the vast Basin and Range

To cosset your formation.

From the eternity of slow movements,

To impacts sudden,

I see with my eyes of the present,

Your simple definition of time.

I feel the flush breeze

That silks your scarlet face smooth,

Forming the features I witness Divine. -- Ya your really sounding like Whitman to me

Or on high ground,

to the Canyon’s bottom, either

Can I pertain to measure my dictum of place.

Rescind from the wallows of Man

Joggling in the pinnacle of society,

To the Canyonlands!

Where by peer glimpse, all the façades

Bestowed a man, amount little

To the limits of a revived visual-latency.

I pour the blood of god

Dripped red on these walls, pervaded its stain

So graceful for our divine exposure

That I have sought hard to witness.

The Grand Canyon is a great and rich image I would go beyond praising it and recognizing its awesomeness (I mean awe inspiring and greatness of magnitude not awesome in terms of dude idiom).