M.A.Jenkins #62 Aug.31.2013
“Poetry is the ultimate inner refuge.” Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The prairie and the sea, they speak to me,
they do — and the mountains, I hear them;
I’d be a fool to ignore the whispers from
those ancient places, or the trees, yes…
my affinity for trees is the stuff of myth
But it’s the damned cliffs that won’t let me
be, they call to me with a siren-like intensity
The towering cathedral-like bluffs shoot up
from Lake Ontario almost 200 feet.
When I awaken in the night in my home on
the prairies, I hear my name clearly in the
dark; I know it’s the cliffs…
They tell me I’ve been away long enough, it’s
time to get back to my clay origins.