Cherokee Rock Village1The early climber2 slides a worn hand
into a well-corroded crevice, once thick
ice water ran, tumbling, clapping, working,
taking a grain and splitting a boulder,
leaving many to rest in disheveled
estrangement-caverns where none stood
before. Moist gritty haven, a sappling roots
itself in the cracks of the once whole giants,
winding pale needle roots into naked stone
interiors. Reach up!
Spindles and buds, unfold your
green, yellow, and orange-
brighter and brighter foliage reaches up
to feather quill clouds who pass hurriedly
to usher in the crisp cosmic glimmer of
the clearest of celestial nightscapes.
The dark of the structure, outlaw functional,
these boulders once stood shelter from
penetrating winter winds, caverns coddling
a delicate embryo-a man, huddled in the
spaces heavy rock fall makes, he is wanted-
a bandit, a train has been robbed3. Fled to
the indifference of the stone complex, running
along dried river beds, flashing between
narrow tree trunks, winding unplanned to his
stony safe-haven; protected from the elements,
suspended from the law. Among purple berries4
of tongue-saturating hue, he learned
of the richness of the silver-dipped
field grasses5, gleam fit for a king, caressed by
a criminal.
No longer could relics rival the
rock village's beauty, he would come to share
with future venturers a love for a stone. They
hug the rock close, inch languidly to its tops,
see the valley in a way endurance can only
provide; they too love the rock for function,
the pure essence of adventure, not made, but
found. The creeping humanity6 that closes itself
aroundthe foot of these hills, may never come to
know such a love. To sleep under the stone's
possessive arches, all the lives that make
opportune homes of accidental spaces,
to understand the careless water that made all,
and the man who first crawled desperately
to the foot of the sandstone boulder,
is to behold history, to run a hand along the layers
of time-bodies that stand erect against the wind,
greeting the bleaching warmth of the sun and
life eternally.
1. TheRock Village along with the foothills upon which it stands protrudes from the rolling valley region, making it visible from far away. 2. Today, the village now mostly receives visitors who seek the opportunities provided by such massive and accessible rock faces. 3.Based on the legend of Rube Burrow, an Alabama and Texas outlaw, who hid in this after being wanted for innumerable train robberies allover the Southeast. 4.Issai Beautyberry Bush(callicarpa dichotoma issai). 5. Silver Grass (Miscanthus sinensis Anderss). 6.The surrounding valley is quickly being populated and built up.
into a well-corroded crevice, once thick
ice water ran, tumbling, clapping, working,
taking a grain and splitting a boulder,
leaving many to rest in disheveled
estrangement-caverns where none stood
before. Moist gritty haven, a sappling roots
itself in the cracks of the once whole giants,
winding pale needle roots into naked stone
interiors. Reach up!
Spindles and buds, unfold your
green, yellow, and orange-
brighter and brighter foliage reaches up
to feather quill clouds who pass hurriedly
to usher in the crisp cosmic glimmer of
the clearest of celestial nightscapes.
The dark of the structure, outlaw functional,
these boulders once stood shelter from
penetrating winter winds, caverns coddling
a delicate embryo-a man, huddled in the
spaces heavy rock fall makes, he is wanted-
a bandit, a train has been robbed3. Fled to
the indifference of the stone complex, running
along dried river beds, flashing between
narrow tree trunks, winding unplanned to his
stony safe-haven; protected from the elements,
suspended from the law. Among purple berries4
of tongue-saturating hue, he learned
of the richness of the silver-dipped
field grasses5, gleam fit for a king, caressed by
a criminal.
No longer could relics rival the
rock village's beauty, he would come to share
with future venturers a love for a stone. They
hug the rock close, inch languidly to its tops,
see the valley in a way endurance can only
provide; they too love the rock for function,
the pure essence of adventure, not made, but
found. The creeping humanity6 that closes itself
aroundthe foot of these hills, may never come to
know such a love. To sleep under the stone's
possessive arches, all the lives that make
opportune homes of accidental spaces,
to understand the careless water that made all,
and the man who first crawled desperately
to the foot of the sandstone boulder,
is to behold history, to run a hand along the layers
of time-bodies that stand erect against the wind,
greeting the bleaching warmth of the sun and
life eternally.
1. TheRock Village along with the foothills upon which it stands protrudes from the rolling valley region, making it visible from far away. 2. Today, the village now mostly receives visitors who seek the opportunities provided by such massive and accessible rock faces. 3.Based on the legend of Rube Burrow, an Alabama and Texas outlaw, who hid in this after being wanted for innumerable train robberies allover the Southeast. 4.Issai Beautyberry Bush(callicarpa dichotoma issai). 5. Silver Grass (Miscanthus sinensis Anderss). 6.The surrounding valley is quickly being populated and built up.
Not only did this poem make me look up Cherokee Rock Village for myself (and want to plan a camping/hiking trip perhaps over the winter break), but it aptly moved me between the micro- and macrocosmic views of this natural wonder. This modeled poem is beautifully rendered, illustrating both your knowledge about the history, culture and natural landscape of the place, and the way this landscape inspired your reflective senses. I particularly enjoyed the image of "the man who first crawled desperately
ReplyDeleteto the foot of the sandstone boulder,
is to behold history." Excellent!