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Trumpet Morning


David W. Parsley

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David W. Parsley

 

TRUMPET MORNING

 

It is no cloud surrounding the horizon,

that silhouette revealed now

in the growing light along its range.

Around each peak

the coming sun’s announcement

glows like tongues of cleaving fire.

 

Canyons exhale

on the last lights of the city

as a thunderhead flotilla

emerges from the west

acquiring the migration trails.

Fig trees shiver along the stream

like trembling cups.

 

Beneath the aerial schism

the sleeping earth dreams on:

not the dream of storm’s omened contact

at the mountains’ first ridges,

where light flies up in face

of the blackness, climbs wing

upon wing from the dwindling blue

which at the moment before engulfment

sends the only calling ray

to a waiting rose of sharon in the field.

 

 

© 2012 David W. Parsley

 

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Canyons exhale on the last lights of the city”

Beneath the aerial schism/ the sleeping earth dreams on:”

 

Outstanding lines that capture the majesty of impending dawn--- it's movement and splendour ; witnessed by a sole symbolic flower, which in a different culture could mean-- 'flower indicating the sky'. Profound...

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Some lovely, lovely lines in this piece, David!

 

glows like tongues of cleaving fire.

 

a thunderhead flotilla

emerges from the west

 

where light flies up in face

of the blackness, climbs wing

upon wing from the dwindling blue

Very nice indeed.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Hi David, I can hear the herald in this piece. I could almost breathe in the fragrance of the morning. I have often thought I would like to capture the morning as you have done here. There is something so alive in the writing of it. Thanks...

 

~~Tink

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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David W. Parsley

Hi Benjamin, many thanks for your appreciation and insights - gratifying on so many levels. The piece reflects an actual experience that I can only partially recapture. I still remember the awareness of almost mythic forces rising in isolation from each other and from the city nestled in the sleeping valley, then coming into opposition as I watched, wind whipping my clothes and hair, the sense of almost prophetic privilege and awe to witness it, how alive.

 

When it came time to "release" the poem (thanks, Tinker), there was a deep urge to address the vast grandeur of the experience. For this purpose I brought in language and symbol deliberately set to trigger half-remembered passages from New Testament historical documents and prophecy (e.g. the Book of Revelations). Over the years I have returned many times to the piece, removing several of the more overtly Western influences to restore the pristine origins of the event. Nevertheless some elements remain, in the belief that they give the poem added richness without sacrificing universality. Among these are the substitution of fig trees for the quaking aspen, insertion of a rose-of-sharon in the illuminated patch of uncultivated field that the sunray struck, the title, etc.

 

Your response in context of a "different culture" justifies the investment of care and craft. The value of "profound" attaches affirmation of the experience's supernatural power coming through. Thanks for understanding so well and for sharing that epiphany.

 

- Dave

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David W. Parsley

Some lovely, lovely lines in this piece, David!

 

glows like tongues of cleaving fire.

 

a thunderhead flotilla

emerges from the west

 

where light flies up in face

of the blackness, climbs wing

upon wing from the dwindling blue

 

Very nice indeed.

 

I am glad this poem worked for you, Brendan. The lines you cite reflect the sense of epic conflict that characterized the scene as I witnessed it. Thanks for telling me, it means a lot.

 

- Dave

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David W. Parsley

Hi David, I can hear the herald in this piece. I could almost breathe in the fragrance of the morning. I have often thought I would like to capture the morning as you have done here. There is something so alive in the writing of it. Thanks...

 

~~Tink

Tinker, Tinker, it is so so good to have you back, sharing your rich composition, commentary, and advice (thanks for your help with linking)! Thank you for hearing and breathing beside this poet for a few moments. It is why we read, why we write, n'est pas?

 

- Dave

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  • 2 weeks later...

Difficult to define a feeling, especially one where the reader is asked to stand in place of the narrator between the last of the light and the imminent collision with an approaching thunderhead. Your words were indeed interesting and will have a long-lasting effect. Thanks, Dave.

fdh

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Killer poem! I'll say this again ... and again and again if necessary. Bump!

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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  • 2 weeks later...

Dave, thank you for sharing this top shelf poem (and I dont mean a book shelf). What fine writing! In addition to the majestic images of nature that are prevalent throughout I sense a subtle human element:

 

Beneath the aerial schism

the sleeping earth dreams on ...

 

You say earth, but to me that means the world. I'm especially drawn in when I consider that awesome connotation. I love it.

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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