The Thinking Poet


The Search

I hear you
In surf sounds:
Addressing; now digressing;
And in wind-crazed ocean's roar.
Always I hear your voice in things adored.

I see you
Dew bejewelled on gossamer;
Mighty in galaxies, bursting;
A fire-raiser in sunset skies;
A dancer in a young child's eyes.

Taste you
On poet's tongues;
Through a painter's brush I touch you;
Feel you through the singer and the song
In this your work-shop world where I belong.

I reach for you
Through trees' uplifted limbs;
Seek you in silent peaks
Where sun-streaks play.
You come to me as silently I pray.

Dim the world's way:
Through astronomer's glass;
History's toll;
Papyrus scroll;
Tablets of stone;

Philosopher's tome.
But clear the path you show me, coming home.


Ron Cretchley