Alien and somewhat wrong it seems that such an activity,
that is the creative expression from mind to hand and
hand to pen and pen to ink and ink to paper and
ink on paper to eye and back again to mind in endless cycle,
should feel out of place in a setting such as this.
The setting itself, with its extraneously panoramic and inspiring beauty,
you would at first believe perfectly ideal for such an endeavour as poetry
– or, indeed, any art form which takes that which is perceived through
the senses of eye, mouth, ear, nose, tongue and skin and
transposes into communicated bliss, or revelry, or simple contentment
for others to take in and enjoy themselves –
but sadly, one is compelled to think it is not so.
The mountains, ocean, grass, sand and trees
The people, faces, branches, leaves, limbs and voices
The clouds, boats and houses
The sun, sky, land and horizon
Are too adventurous to allow for sedentary observation.
The mountains cry out to be conquered,
teasing glory and excitement to any
with resolute bravery mastered
in which to set out upon their
treacherous slopes.
The ocean holds within its fathomless depths
a universe of untouched wonders
in which to revel, to explore.
The grass offers motherly comfort
to any with the inclination to lay
upon its bountiful bosom.
The sand is the embodiment of time’s enduring
onward march toward infinite rejuvenation
and renewal which may be witnessed
by any with the patience.
The trees stand as pillars of life’s recurring gift,
reminding any with hearts receptive
that they as well hold the power to
become more than what the form
they took at creation bore.
The people, infinitely varied and coloured,
examples of possibilities abound in the
day to day choices that we, as fellow travelers,
are capable of making.
The faces, leaves, limbs and voices
give us tools to use as we taste
all of creation’s wonders.
The clouds bear witness to our plight
and beckon us on to goals
above and beyond the reach
of said earthly tendrils.
The boats tempt us with passage
unto unknown places,
while the houses assure us that
others have embarked on ventures past
and lived long and prosperous enough
to lay down and rest.
The sun, sky, land and horizon are there and always have been,
and they tell us that we are as well, and we always will be.
Abound in this rich setting are other members of my species
who enthusiastically employ their senses, muscles and wills
to climb, swim, plunder, conquer, explore, swing, dive, build and enjoy
to their utmost capacity every tangible inch of the world
in which I plant myself in silent station to observe.
It is not beyond the scope of reason
why one feels the pull of obligation
to do something more
than simply sit,
and watch,
and write in a leather-bound book.
