Something About the Massanutten mountains

By Lewis Jackson aka Papo– Poet of Ksanakai

The starry nebulae in mountain sky
a spotted fawn beside her mother’s side
stands motionless in golden morning sun
till indigo buntings set hooves to stride

Melodies whistle top the early morn’
atop the dew wet roof top sings the song
of fidgeting wings and dream’s desire
to run midst shady trees ‘pon ribbons long

I harken to the bluejay ‘pon the roof,
which casts its eyes along the mountain ridge
the anxious groundhog scurries ‘neath the house
shivers slightly yet narley moves a smidge

Tis not a snake this long black ribbon road
still whispers to my feet this darkened path,
which undulates as waves upon the sea,
“lick licorice, but heed the aftermath.”

And swallow down the taste for marigold
in farmer’s fields, purple spiderwort
as berceuses to soothe the bleary mind
a respite from this journey’s battle fought

The road ascends and seems to dissipate
at crest, a vacuous blank horizon
portends the road has drifted into space
yet closer, a butterfly arisin

Erasing doubts like powder on its wings
it seems to trace a path to follow home,
a patch of sweet blackberries on the vine
sublime as honey makes my buds to foam

My spirit roams, like Roman architects
these mountain mists in bluish clouds
echoes, Massanutten Indian tribes
smoke signals, silhouettes of ancient shrouds

Which tribes beneath the forest canopy?
what stories hide in fallen tree debris?
the black road blankets Indian trails…
just whispers linger as bird songs in breeze

The doleful gaze of gentle pasture cows
cavernous marble eyes, entwined in whole
I’m sullen by the thought of their demise
with ear tags marked unlike the blissful foal

I wish to emulate the waterfalls
that shimmer through prisms, glassy brilliance
an ageless hourglass, flowing chandelier
sunlit pearls of formless resilience

My feet roll under me in oiled joy
wheels, frictionless, mechanical calm
in thumping pulses, waterfalls of sweat,
like smooth ball bearings, timeless sultry balm

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