My first attempts at writing poetry!

Our public library is hosting a Poem in Your Pocket event on April 18. I'm looking forward to participating. I started my first "public reading" (it sounds presumptuous) of one of my poems at the CORE Winery in Orcutt several months ago. Characteristically (for me), I haven't repeated the experience, even though it was one of the best. I began by promising that I was not a poet, so they wouldn't be disappointed if I bombed out. Well, afterwards, someone came up and shook my hand and said, "You are a poet!" So, I ask  you: Why haven't I been back? Maybe because it can't get any better than that. (smile) 

I wonder which poem I should read at the library. Any suggestions?

The Mountain

Rooted darkly down primeval depths,

The mountain lifts its sunlit slopes skyward.

While flinty spines dive fervently downward

Between wetted walls of secret hollows.

Rain comes, springs burst forth,

The outward flow becomes a stream.

Seeds root their way through rock ribs,

Feverishly anticipating a greater life to come.

Today, deer and bear and bird range above,

Moles, foxes and ground squirrels burrow below.

Tomorrow, quakes may raise cave walls

Into sunlight and rocky peaks turn sullen.

Inside, darkness and light dwell side by side,

Languor weds warmth and joy to abject sadness,

The living come to bury their dead,

And the mountain is simply the mountain.

Beverly Gaye Scofield 

2012

 

A Clearing of the Skies

 I feel a clearing of the skies.

The last drop of rain flings itself

From the roof's edge, and the wind

Carries it away to fall in the garden next door.

Little gray birds flit among the leaves, finding

Sanctuary upon the gnarly branches of an old orange tree.

Yesterday, the wind sounded like ancient Aoleus

Dragging a long, gray beard through protesting grasses.

Today, it is young and lean, nipping at the clouds

Like a working dog at the heels of fleecy sheep.

A mountain's bulk shoulders the vap'rous flock up and over,

Pushing them on toward anticipating poets.

The rain endures but the wind abates,

Cloud tatters cast occasional shadows

Trailing whispers of departing thunder.

And, I feel a clearing of the skies.

Beverly Gaye Scofield

2001

Looking for Myself

 Wand'ring paths where no light shines;

Tangled up in webs and vines;

Misled by mistaken signs;

Looking for myself.

Landscape rising bleak and stark;

Meeting strangers in the dark;

Arrows find their bleeding mark;

Looking for myself.

Eyes that look but cannot see;

Feet that run but cannot flee;

Thoughts that sing but are not free;

Looking for myself.

Flowers growing upside down;

Water burning with no sound;

Shadows gath'ring all around;

Looking for myself.

 Beverly Gaye Enos

1980