Wednesday, July 22, 2009

July 22 - Lake Bistineau, Louisiana


On wheeled machine, maximally efficient,
A wheedler, a creeper, a crawler, a dawdler,
Across and to whatever willed.
Long with us, long valued, with us still,
And proudly had as choice fulfilled.

A pack horse, a conveyance simple,
For some, a flying machine,
Though this by all be not easily seen,
As with those of the slanted gaze
The more by motors amazed.

A slowing machine;
This wheedler, this creeper, crawler, dawdler,
And it is slow we need,
Let’s collectively concede.

We have the fast, the plenty, the many,
Our usual choices and constant change.
We’re pointed, we prefer, we push, we plan.
Harried we be, many the man .
We go and go, more of the same
The best available, we often claim.
Possibly, though, a limited where, a limited there!
This pattern perceived, none nurturing fare.

Pass that person with friendly wave,
Or sober visage grave,
Never will you them know, though,
Until slower, each of you go.

Run in falling rain
Get only slightly wet,
From this water, only frontally met.

A simple thing, touring,
On a wheeled machine so efficient,
Wheedling, creeping, crawling, dawdling,
Across and to whatever willed.
Fleshing, threshing for this missed more;
A willed, wheeled trip deeper possible
For those so postured,
Both in and out.

Pat Sewell

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