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Dave Bonta
In small, murky ponds
that appear each spring
along the ridge crest,
dozens of wood frogs
float through the reflected treetops,
lust blatting from each fat throat.
Get too close and the show stops.
Another step and they vanish
into strings of bubbles.
On a warm day,
a patch of ice dulls over
like a dead eye,
except that something moves
under and through it,
like the soul—
that bubble of breath—
surrounded by meltwater
and the bluebird’s song.
In my bubble I like to walk.
I like to run and dance,
All around the bubble.
It's small but I like it here.
My bubble is now water,
So I swim now.
It's much bigger than before.
As I grew, I got more curious.
Is there a Bottom?
What does it looks like?
I want to know.
I want to see.
With my arms I swam to the bottom,
As far as I can go.
I want to know.
As far as I can go,
She hovers above planet
Earth, making strategies
for safe landings, but not
able to see that she is also
on planet Earth, watched
like a crazed cat, a maze-
rat, or a tied-up mime, I
cannot save someone so
high up or far down, it’s
like a black thread about
to snap, as it strains past
breaking point she reaches
for champagne, to celebrate–
bubbles lunge up to break.
They have dreamed as young men dream
Of glory, love and power;
They have hoped as youth will hope
Of life’s sun-minted hour.
They have seen as others saw
Their bubbles burst in air,
And they have learned to live it down
As though they did not care.
In the dim light of the golden lamp
The singer stands and sings,
And the songs rise up like coloured bubbles
Or birds with shining wings.
And the movement of the merry or plaintive keys
Sounds in the silent air
Till the listener feels the room no more
But only music there.
And still from the sweet and rounded mouth
The delicate songs arise,
Like floating bubbles whose colours are
The coloured melodies.
The sun immense and rosy
Must have sunk and become extinct
The night you closed your eyes for ever against me.
Grey days, and wan, dree dawnings
Since then, with fritter of flowers--
Day wearies me with its ostentation and fawnings.
Still, you left me the nights,
The great dark glittery window,
The bubble hemming this empty existence with lights.
Still in the vast hollow
Like a breath in a bubble spinning
Brushing the stars, goes my soul, that skims the bounds like a swallow!
I can look through
The film of the bubble night, to where you are.
Through the film I can almost touch you.