Chauntecleer of the Pricking Cock

Here lies this poem. Be kind...it's only the thrid poem I've ever written. It's influenced by Gary Snyder's style. It was inspired by a chance occurance last night, and I wrote it as a way of capturing the moment in my memory.

Under the Stars

Stuck in Traffic one cold night

Wasting Time

I escaped the Trap

And walked into the Woods

Into the dark Woods.

Black night, cold night

Lonely Night.

Look.

Off in the distance, under the shadowy Pines

A mysterious ring of fire

And the thumping cadence of tribal drums

“Don’t be afraid, be warm by our Fire!”

A gypsy woman hollered.

The beating of drums carried the dance of half-naked women

‘round the fire, ‘round the fire.

Oh the dance of My Desire!

Bellies swiveling, breasts heaving in a seductive rhythm,

So goes the dance of the gypsy

Under the Moonlight

I played the pennywhistle in time with the drums,

women’s bodies swaying to the tune of my

improvised notes

And Drums

Spontaneous Dance.

Spontaneous Music.

Spontaneous Happenstance.

Spontaneous Beauty.

So goes the possibility of Life’s Joys

When one looks away

There’s Beauty to be discovered everywhere

In this case it was

In the Woods

‘Round the orange-glow of radiant Fire-circle

Under the celestial roof illuminated by white twinkling points of light

…………………………..

The Stars

Look not ahead with head screwed in a vice

Look for the Stars!

Beautiful Happens

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Under the Stars