Stone From Lake Biwa

Tapered, smooth, and grey:
gift of water and sand.
Here, where bamboo ripples
like new fur drying
on inkpaper slopes,
the mountains embrace the water;
my fingers embrace the mountains.

Echo

The first time I set eyes upon the ocean,
a shudder rang my bones with phantom notes
like well-tuned horns in harmony. The boats,
white-winged and slender, kept their sleepwalk motion
across the ever-wrinkling silk and glass.
My throat closed like a shell as something locked
in place, some key connected. Seagulls flocked
above; I soared with each one I saw pass.


In infancy, I dreamt these things, it seems;
saw length of shore and breadth of sea. My dreams
were mingled memory and premonition
of things too old, too vast to understand.
For that first jolt I felt upon the sand
was not surprise or fear -- but recognition.

First Post

I'm going to start out with one of my more structured poems, a sonnet. I like this one because it's about the ocean, which I love, and because the situation described in it is true; autobiographical, I guess I should say. And I *think* I managed to use a rhyme scheme without it dominating the whole tone of the poem. It doesn't feel overly sing-song to me.

I also think that I'll try to make a habit of giving poems their own posts, and putting any commentary like this in the entry preceding a poetry post.