08/24/2024 There will come a time when I can only Recall these nuevo-rustic scenes, when I Can no longer strike for the river on A whim and follow the winding asphalt To view the gentle rolling hills dotted With tasteful McMansions, strewn with shining F-150s and midsize SUVs, And the ancient roadside double-tree with West-facing branches cut for power lines. I will have to cast my mind back to see From my place upon the concrete landing The rippled surface of the Tennessee Softly molten and aglow at sunset, And the light diffusing through the evening Mists, and the whirring gentle chorus of The water-creatures bedding down for sleep, And the late-summer jasmine perfume that Subtly swirls and curls through the humid air. Someday my body will be a prison, My youth and strength become mere memory, And all these familiar scenes will vanish Into the creeping floodwaters of the Past, that dark river whose banks are always Slowly bursting, each day overwhelming Another day of my life, and your life, Infinite moments that shall never be Again. But though the pallor of death pale All the drowned subjects of my memories, Their echoes shall resound a little while In me till my final resignation Comes, and before then I will capture them And cast them into crystal here, in this And others like this, for as long as I Can, and in the end it will be enough.
Notes: This poem is my first entry in the Ode Olympic, which I half-stumbled into but am very happy to be participating in. My assigned theme was βThe Countryside/the Past,β which of course played right into my mopey nostalgic temperament. I competed against Marlow, whose fine entry you can read here. I took the victory, so I will move on to round two in the winnerβs bracket, this time squaring off against one of the architects of the competition, Jordan. Wish me luckβ¦