Cadence / Steve Robbins


O for the cadence of wild rivers
unperturbed, unquestioning, unimaginative
a-roil in grand erosive bliss
who tinker, spit and string along the cool incline
with un-refrained tongues benign
rivers who sing their duets with wolves
rivers who whine along corridors of descent
descanting, deriding, doubting quells of conscience
stone focused, burrowing holes into un-molten dross
they go, flow and unfold a destiny foretold by gravity
wending their endings in occult communal ecstasies
slapping, lapping, flapping on the shores of lake-front
cottages men design to mind their own boastful cadence,
the cadence of rivers impounded, weighting waves
at the obfuscated end of natures ignored.

1 comment:

Ralph La Charity said...

never EVER thought of a river as having a cadence... erosive bliss sounds like chaos on the shimmy... the "wild" in this poem performs gleeful contraries, those words that end in
"-i-n-g" piling up like detritus, all of it at the eventual behest of that "other" cadence, the one that impounds & obfuscates --- so that finally the cadence I'm hearing as I turn back to my own day-to-day matches more that of a chain gang... I feel beat-up by this poem.