The Lady Flies from the Ocean to Return a River

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Stage For You - Poems

Saturday, 21 January 2012 14:23

Written by Don Standeford

In her slippery salmon swim

And red streaked Crawdads chute

Into her eddying pools

To stare at her from beneath rocks.

Whitewater rapids challenge men

To stand against her torrential frame

And face her, screaming out in pain

Torturous centuries of ecstatic rain

To be her solitary stone

To stand against her all alone

A true man to soften her cold soul.

And who’ll be her Reigning Lord

Echo her insanity

To lover her shade and slippery slopes

Crevices’ waiting, sharp inclines.

Once a current in the sea

So filled with green and mystery

To her a man did rarely come

Then, pulled up by curious shapes

Like lambs, in white puffs she flew

And traced her shadow cross the land

Till the puffs released her soul

In little flakes, gentle and slow

For a time entombed in frozen snow.

There men saw her as a sprite

Reflected in her cage of white

Men chased her form of watery light

In dreams that came hard in the night

Her body lucid, long and lean

A cold corpse, frozen to the earth

Blue hair, bent arm, frozen knee

The sun took pity, broke the back

Of the ice block and set her free

So through high mountains, cliffs

And rocks she trickled

In a gathering streams, in rivulets

Of tears, mouths open

Her bosomed skin slipped as ice

Pain built up the rage within

And sorrow brought it to the light.

Green – the color of fast and deep

White – the foam that came in waves

Along the long and joyous vein

She spreads her long body

Knee bent, her heavy breasts pinned

Blasted, rippled by the wind

She’s touched only by old earth’s hand

Its gravity like a naked man

Basking in her pools

Her faces and belly ghosting him, a mirror.

Watch her through the thickening trees

Her body sliding toward the sea

A torturous rape, a rapid ride

For all who’ve hung upon her side

Hearts pound, as she shrieks and sighs

With each down stroke a demon dies

Within the man who’s bourn the pain

Endured her crushing fingers round

Who’s felt the pound of her breasts soft

Been beaten by her to the blood

And awaits for centuries her cold flood.