NATIONAL POETRY MONTH #12

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6

Scott ____

First Movement

Dead is the ground on which we spit.  We turn gloom into humorous madness, then fall up to a gallop of Beethovian victory.  The panther lies in the glamour of night.  We too find hope amidst our gooseflesh fear, then take the train to illogical beauty.  For logic is worthless here.  A sunstreamed oak grows ancient.  Shocked, we race to a state of ambiguous form.  Kong battles the planes, and we carefully watch every movement of his paws.  Then the Red Sea parts for us.  Love is terror when it is lacking.  Follow the ships upon the Gulf of Mexico.  We prevailed–we found closure in our embrace.

Second Movement

She dreams of Cinderella’s dance, as she finds me in awe of her–or so I hope.  The traveller aches as he nears that house.  Just a few more steps, and he’ll find cool air and warm food.  I can hear your flowing locks of black hair–so yearn, in a controlled peace.

Third Movement

The Clysedales swirl, once set free from the tether–and the carriage driver envies them.  In another life I played football for Mobile Christian School, hence my expectation of cheers.  Indeed, I made countless touchdowns.  Snow lands gracefully atop the Metropolitan Opera House, unbeknownst to those inside.

Fourth Movement

Standing on the cliff, I look over Escambia Bay in the night.  The water is open, deep, and dark.  I remember losing someone, where I stand.  Yet then a peaceful resignation overtakes me.  And I come to terms with the loss of this girl, Deborah, who never existed.  The water is open, deep, and bright.

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