- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Age of Discovery
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A new mountain range lines the horizon,
Black against the rising sun's yellow sky.
My dog pays it no mind
And though I know it for illusion,
Clouds from last night's storm piled high,
Yet though I know it illusion,
I think of unhooking her leash
And setting off into the unknown:
To trap furs in some clean valley
To stake a claim by some fast flowing stream,
Perhaps to find a golden city
Peopled by credulous primitives
Whose first Middle American am I,
Perhaps to stand on the highest point, my Darien,
And look across an uncharted glittering ocean.
Our six feet turn from habit for home.
She's never once looked at the sky,
And knowing it illusion,
I bid all hope, goodbye.
- COMMENTS
UnderYourSpellabout 16 years agoI saw it as an imagined land to go with the clouds that looked like mountains on the horizon and what could be there if they were real. I agree with Leon two of the lines are practically the same
KOLKOREabout 16 years agoLorencino, I believe this is a fantasy (probably in the morning) of a man and his dog as they stroll the near by area. Everything could be imagined grand dangerous and un explored -that is until the forward forces that is the exploring dog decides to return home... I was charmed.
LeBrozabout 16 years agoFine display of creativity through a vivid imagination. I do wonder, though, about lines 4 & 6. It seems as though one of them ought to have been lined out, since they each seem to say the exact same thing.
lorencinoabout 16 years agoAn interesting device, if I'm understanding this correctly of using history as a metaphor for life. The hopes of Balboa and the conquistadores imagined as discovering pristine new worlds to conquer in a personal life, but the new worlds exist no more and there is nothing left in the aftermath of the age of discovery. "Been there, done that," produces a sense of hopelessness. <br> <br>
On the other hand, perhaps the illusion is the historical romanticism that igores the fact that more than 100 million indigenous people died at the hands of the conqistadores and the diseases they brought. Perhaps the "clean stream" is the illusion as it flows red with the blood spilt in the name of mindless greed. The dog places no arbitrary value on yellow metal and so is unimpressed not subject to all the illusions derived from the human imagination.<br><br>
This poem is like a mysterious mountain range hiding a world of meaning I'm still unearthing, or is it facilitating my delusions. Either way, I'm having a great time with it.
