Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Tuesday Poem: Lassoed

Loose on the beach, the dog and I, and drawn up beside
the still pool of fresh water. Spilt down the hillside, it's piped

here, pools here. Two silent ducks on the surface. We watch
the silent ripples they make. Limitless. Rebounding. The way

the ripples become light and climb them, ring by ring by ring,
until the ducks are lassoed. One is dull, the other glossy.

The dog moans and pulls. Out on the edge, beyond the pool,
beyond the beach stones, I can hear the matey voice of the man

with the big red backpack talking to Bill with the jandals.
I can hear the jandals. I can hear the King Charles Spaniel yap

in his garden, one yap every three seconds. I can hear the tap
of the sticks of the woman who had the stroke, I can hear the feet

of the woman with lean legs and white-blonde hair - she
has a particular way of running. I can hear the shuffle of the man

who walks as if he's leaning into a strong wind. In the distance,
coming towards us, I make out a family: a man, a child with thin

shoulders, a woman reaching for the child, a dog running rings
around them. The ducks break away, swim, consider flight.

My dog and I walk again. Each stone is separate and porous in the light.
I make them crunch and spatter. I rattle the dog chain. Itself a kind of lasso:

the dog at one end, me the other. Noisily, we re-enter the beach
from wherever it is we have gone. Still, I hear the sea sighing. I hear the sea sighing.

                                                                    Mary McCallum

Another Tuesday and a poem 'found' from notes in my Moleskine (posted yesterday, revised today). Please go to the Tuesday Poem hub to read a poem about a birthday goat by Kendrick Smithyman.You won't be disappointed.  And then the TP sidebar has some more treats.... Just click on the quill to the left.


Melissa Green said...

Mary, this is powerful and mysterious. The poet suddenly has the capacity to channel all the neighbors and their particular way of being in the world, and how wonderful that the acuity of the hearing is so effortless, the reader has the feeling that the voice describing the peculiarities of the souls could go on forever, mystically calling into being everyone in the world, from whatever magic the light on the pool and the ducks' made possible. Lovely. xo

Eileen D. Moeller said...

Mary, I love this poem! All of the sounds in it, and finally the sea. I tried to comment quite a while ago, but it didn't post for some reason. I agree that there are wonderful parallels in this and my kite poem. How lovely to be your fellow traveller!