Ttc poems

[bobbys4eva]

 The Stir of Ripeness

I have come upon a spell of stillness
out of the mainstream current
a little bay, a sheltered pocket
visited by boat and sea.
The water surges up, searching its mark
carving its furrows, ebbing away.
The bay stretches and resounds
in scalloped rings upon the sands.
Lost to sight now the lone stroke
of the swimmer on the high seas;
the cove curls round its own curve
pondering, brooding, waiting.

I am already making a space
my belly a rich loamy lining
warm hollow, a barrel of grin
a grass-thick valley, a nestful of birds
a bowl of still water, a whirling eddy
a vat full of wine, chalice of grail
an eye full of tear, a bay full of sea
a well earth-deep, a bell of bronze.
The whole of my cupped life
is streaming slowly through me
down the glass-green shaft;
all possibilities and impossibilities
array themselves before me -
I prepare myself to bear a mystery.