America Used To Be A Circle II: Sijo XI


America used to be a circle, golden sphere of sunlight

spinning round her deep sweet rivers, ‘neath her sacred ground

Caressing myth and rock, her leaves of oak and maple veins

 

Her sap was sweet and simmered long, over embers ’round the flame

days of fire-flies and falling stars, that lay in sweet fields of hay

and the low bellow of cows who took the slow journey down soft paths.

 

But moonshine eyes have stolen her, under cover of the cool night

to bode above the world, in the bowels of the city lights

a realm of splintered abstract art, velvet lips that speak the dark.

 

With patchouli scent behind her ears, and nightmares at her heels

        she strides quickly into the night with her Nefertiti eyes

        Breathing in the distant stars, and howling at the silver moon.

 

And now, the dawn will shake her orchestra of shattered sound

        fold opal beams of fragile light, her pale sky politely calling,

        spinning round her deep sweet rivers ‘neath her sacred ground.

                                           America is a circle.

Karen K.L. Espaniola April 14, 2012

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Poetry

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© Karen K.L.Espaniola and hinarising.com. 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Karen K.L. Espaniola and hinarising.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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