Nature's Summer: through the eyes of a Poet.
Updated: Aug 8, 2022
The Mid-Summer Ceremony
by Douglas Thornton
Never sunlight,
Never golden,
But the sound of the world
Asleep, to remind me
Of the moment
Evening voices
Followed the creek, by thorn
And drooping berry past
Our dwelling grounds,
With smoke from fires
Kindled of wild-born sage.
Figures born to nature
Now far away,
If with those least
Aware who think to see
Their solitude released
Consolation
Find in lonely
Heart joy’s unobtrusive
Care, blaming their employ,
How could the search
Of calm desire
Fill a spiritual
Voice, without word or phrase,
To bend its wing
On memory’s
Conceit, and like the rain
To fall, drape a misty
Shadow across
The thing they call?
The thickness of the fog,
The waters where I bathe,
In holding back
What they embrace
Disperse amongst the land
That solemn breath, infused
By lore of song
And floating voice,
Untold divinity
Beyond the manifest.
So men stuck out
In storms return
At last with humble heart
Unto their homes, nor leave
Their safe retreats
Without accord.
But who in falling
Darkness not unhindered
Seeks a sacred
Grove, and passage
Gives, along with anxious
Hope, unfeigned existence
To humankind?
A boat remains,
Of one that passing tribe
Whose steps another way
Returned--thoughtful
Of his native
Clime and the elements
Of the arbitrary
World, fixed a spot
Where standing pines
Would rise above the creek
Where his devotion hides.
And if the winds
That blow the fowl
Upon the distant banks
Of rivers; or delayed
By sun-lit clouds
His steps forget
The path goes whither men
Before him walked alone,
Will everything
In appearance
Persist; for when catching
Up to him, nothing more
Corrupt remains
Than demanding
Witness of passerby.
About the Poet:
Douglas Thornton is an English teacher living in France. He has published a book of poetry (Woodland Poems) and a collection of prose (Seasons Of Mind) while currently maintaining a website: www.fromapoet.com.
You can connect with him on Instagram at @from__a__poet.