White Noise

beside me races the brawny river,
Mother Earth’s lifeline cascading from snowy peaks and forcing its winding path
down, down, down,
it’s miracle reaching through the circle of all living things

rippling and licking at the pure mountain air,
it opens and closes its sunlit doors
as it folds and rolls over itself,
kneading and knotting the collective thread of the life it feeds, 
past, present, and future into one connectedness,
while projecting its time-ridiculing ROAR

I feel in my bones,
the reverberation of its irony –

fast, fast, fast,
it flows,
it’s commanding voice reminding me to
slow, slow, slow,
to listen

for we all end up back where we began
if we only
follow, follow, follow

our spirits are ROARING,
the lifelines feeding our souls, 
forging our winding paths,
speaking to us with powerfully pure voices,
ones which are not ever meant to become 
white noise

-image is mine; poem dedicated to my mountain friend; shared as part of dVerse’s open link night

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23 thoughts on “White Noise

  1. Before I started writing seriously, I spent a summer in Aspen CO and I often hiked up Hunter Creek to a meadow where the creek much like the one pictured here roared through. In the center was a large rock that parted the water. It was sculpted like a kind of sofa. I brought books there, climbed up and read as nearby musicians from the Aspen Music Festival played my background music. My thoughts often followed this train of thought. Your poem delightfully contains them. Quite beautiful!

    Like

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