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Amy Lowell
In the brown water,
Thick and silver-sheened in the sunshine,
Liquid and cool in the shade of the reeds,
A pike dozed.
Lost among the shadows of stems
He lay unnoticed.
Suddenly he flicked his tail,
And a green-and-copper brightness
Ran under the water.
Out from under the reeds
Came the olive-green light,
And orange flashed up
Through the sun-thickened water.
So the fish passed across the pool,
Green and copper,
A darkness and a gleam,
My little stone
Sinks quickly
Into the bosom of this deep, dark pool
Of oblivion ...
I have troubled its breast but little
Yet those far shores
That knew me not
Will feel the fleeting, furtive kiss
Of my tiny concentric ripples....
a busy pool—
the fry appear so happy
to kill their friends
It’s not that you’re chasing a white moth through the forest; it’s just that she happens to be flying ahead of you, right? It’s just that things come to you when you’re walking. And you to them.
An ephemeral forest pool, fed by spring rains. Here at the top of the watershed the rain doesn’t quite know where to go, so it sits for a while. Ripples on the surface show how any point can be the center of an expanding universe. I love watching them intersect and cancel each other out.
song dogs
on the trail of some
ripe panic
The dark, seasonal pool at the top of the watershed has dried up, so where do I go now to let my eyes relax and envision possibilities apart from the doom-scroll on my phone or laptop?
cracks in the mud
100% chance
of chaos
train horn
the forest pool’s murky surface
stippled with bubbles
mosquitoes rising
only as high as my knees
still drying their wings
West Nile virus
missing the heart-stopping
flush of a grouse
old charcoal hearth
the last butternut tree’s
mossy corpse
the water weighed above my head
every second longing for the surface
the swig of a bottle
or the blade on a wrist
would be enough to breathe again
alas, even when I get to the surface
I float back down to the bottom
the tiles around me scream
and start the vicious cyle again
one day I shan't use the bottle nor blade
but instead wait
and I shall exit the water
and live on land
but every now and then it rains
reminding me of the pool
but I do not surrender to my vices
So this is the bottom of the pool I drowned in.
Yet still there are mirrors;
That bloated shape that's shifting's mine.
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods--
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.
Ripple-skiffed by bird and stone
Tree is held in dark-water
The flowers fight up.
I have no beauty that is all my own,
No special loveliness carved out of me,
No glowing images wrought perfectly,
Splendour of flesh or delicacy of bone.
I am a pool, wherein you shall be shown
How wonderful and starlike you can be,
I am a mirror so that you may see
Yourself most intimately and alone.
When you lean to me and a dear, swift grace
Sways in my body, and my lips and eyes
Grow suddenly and exquisitely calm —
Oh tremble and look deep into my face
And see your own there, marvel and grow wise,
Touch me and cry, " How beautiful I am ! "
I AM a pool in a peaceful place,
I greet the great sky face to face,
I know the stars and the stately moon
And the wind that runs with rippling shoon--
But why does it always bring to me
The far-off, beautiful sound of the sea?
The marsh-grass weaves me a wall of green,
But the wind comes whispering in between,
In the dead of night when the sky is deep
The wind comes waking me out of sleep--
Why does it always bring to me
The far-off, terrible call of the sea?