Outpost Poetry

Corridors of Sky

I hear my Ancient.
Like a far wind already past.
The sounds of lasting green, the Natural Empire.
I, brought up in the unknowing,
Sleeping through meals, too tired to get up and move.
What choice do we have when there is clear and present Danger?
Does it have to be in the face to see it?

Plenty to do in this vehicle of doing.
Defining who I am in what my hands can do.
Making things done, always with the good help.
Inching from one side to another,
looking for a stirring of good emotion.
Something to do to draw meaning.

My ancient past, the blending of Now and Then.
To make movement happen, where history will not repeat itself,
and that we may take to higher ground.
Above it all, a resting place where all things come together.
I move through the thick air,
looking for a means of Upliftment.
A tiny thread to pull me up above my head.
A close relationship with the Everpresent.
It is not easy, as each good day ends, another begins.
I forget the rules, that which works, that which doesn't.
A Connection is needed to work from.
Days changing and it doesn't matter.
The Connection exists, and I stretching for it in well-meaning.

I stand in this place of Great Beauty,
Where Sky and Land meet.
And I see well what my hands can do,
when moving in a direction like Up.
A living room of green.
A cathedral of Sky above the head.
Cool blue sky penetrating the cast iron, the hard bullet.
I joining in togetherness with Living Green.
The great community of Us.
A nation of appreciation, reaching for the quiet dream.
The One we all hold dear, the good that was always intended.

Floating through the Deep Blue,
An Ocean of Aliveness, a Sea of Change, a Stream of Time,
and I inside it.
Briefly touching down to stand beneath it all.
I hear my Ancient,
Like a far wind already past.

Joe Nelson Icet
May 17, 2003

More Poetry