Out of my Mind

It’s been a while since I felt poetic. When I read the poem “In the Yellowstone” by Harriet Monroe, today, it inspired me to give it a go. And in the spirit of appreciation, I decided to go with a Golden Shovel. Buckle-up for this one…its a bit of a wild ride.

Out of My Mind

From “In the Yellowstone” by Harriet Monroe


Little,
Upon the head of a pin
Threatening to prick
Fast and furious geysers
Spitting
And
Sputtering.

Not at all little,
Sea-sized foaming
Geysers
That
Gurgle
Out
In tall-tales fabricated of
See-through sails pulling the
Mind’s calyx
Of
Morning
To glory
In whirling pools.

Unbridled laughing
Geysers
That
Tickle my fancy and dance
In
The
Name of the spirits, our father, and the sun;
And
Spread
Folly upon their
Cast-off robes
Like
Down feathers escaping from lace
And wafting over
The
Techno-colored rocks.

Angry, raging
Geysers
That
Can’t wait to rush
Out
From the reach of
Good intentions with scorching hell
Raised neurosis and with
A
Great
Strike of lightning and its grumpy rumble of noise
And
Blurt
Out
Curses across the vast
Sky, summoning the demonic dragon
With gulps
Of
Lusty urges and steam
And
Finishing
Upon her breast, sink
Back
Spent and wearily
Into
Singed darkness.

Gay and glad
Geysers
Escaping the forest like nymphs
Dreaming of
The
Mid-night sun
That
Arise
When sleep is slim
And
Nude
Figures cast shadows out
Of
The
Sweet, hot
Musky, dark,
Earth
And
Ebbs into a stand
Of trees
Poised
In
Twilight’s beauty
Awaiting a
Moment
Perfect for un-veiling
Their
Wild brows
And
Boyish breasts
In
The cooling mist.

Clip-winged
Geysers
Broken spirits
Of
Smothered fire
That
Fail to rise,
Not tall,
And
Limp, not straight,
Like
A
Half-cooked noodle, a sequoia
Seedling stepped upon by heavy boot and
Aborted plume
Falls short of the
Sky
With
Tepid foam.

O,
Wild
Geysers, choral
Fountains
Of absurdities forever
Singing
To laugh-tracks and
Squelching the seething
Voices forever
Boiling
Disquiet in
Politics of despair from too deep
Places
To be safely conceived and
Leaping
Forth
For
Joyful and bright
Moments
Before disappearing into
The
Air.


How
Do
You
Like
It
Up
Here?

Why
Must
You
Go?

Going back?
Going to?
Will the
Spirits
Of
Light and darkness
Remain, or what?

Do
You
Tell
Them
Down
There
About
Your
Little
Adventure, your brief, glorious
Life
Out of my mind and in
The
Sun?

Be well,

Monty

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