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Here is a poem about Enid Lake, a lake in north Mississippi. This poem was published in Batesville The Magazine in its Spring/Summer 2014 edition. This poem is also included in my new books of poetry, Seasons of a Sojourner, and Enid Lake Mosaic, both published in 2019 by Silver Bow Publishing, British Columbia, Canada:
Enid Lake
(Near Dusk)
I stand upon the levee
And watch the sun break out
On the clouds of blue and orange
And purple and gray and white;
The air is crisp and clear
And feather-light.
The painted sky hangs low overhead,
And eastward it stretches
To where the water meets the horizon
Shrouded in the distant haze and mist.
The breeze comes sweeping
Over the lake;
There's a chill in the wind
As it whips against my face.
The waves are writing symphonies
As they splash against the rocks
Far below;
Their music brings a familiar longing
To my soul,
And I am cold,
Suddenly
Shivering cold.
Turning, looking westward,
The rays of the sinking sun
Reach their fingers toward heaven,
Trying to grasp and hold the day
While the sun itself is slowly
Being swallowed by the night --
The day is almost spent.
The trees which tower above
And all around
Surround the scene with their own
Deep mystery
And look silently on.
The earth is like a vast green carpet
Rolled away
To touch the sunset's crimson hues;
The cattle dot the landscape,
Grazing peacefully in the gathering darkness;
They are at home there in their world;
They know not discontent, disillusion,
Carnage or confusion,
Worry or woe.
Only a short way beyond,
The interstate highway runs,
And so does man,
As man has ever done.
I watch as the lights of cars and trucks
Hurry along, to and fro...
Who knows where they go,
Or why?
And yet I must admit
There is a certain sense of peace and security,
Albeit solitary,
In that steady stream of traffic --
But enough of that;
They are there, and I am here
Where I have always been,
And these sights and sounds
That I hold so dear
Will never fade from my eyes or ears,
And even though the daylight flees,
I do not regret that now,
For the night,
With which I am well familiar,
Has a glory all its own --
See there; the stars are already
Coming to the sky;
Come ahead, come on
And bring the moon along!
I am waiting...waiting
Alone...yet somehow
I am not alone.
Copyright © 2014 by Michael Wrenn
(Near Dusk)
I stand upon the levee
And watch the sun break out
On the clouds of blue and orange
And purple and gray and white;
The air is crisp and clear
And feather-light.
The painted sky hangs low overhead,
And eastward it stretches
To where the water meets the horizon
Shrouded in the distant haze and mist.
The breeze comes sweeping
Over the lake;
There's a chill in the wind
As it whips against my face.
The waves are writing symphonies
As they splash against the rocks
Far below;
Their music brings a familiar longing
To my soul,
And I am cold,
Suddenly
Shivering cold.
Turning, looking westward,
The rays of the sinking sun
Reach their fingers toward heaven,
Trying to grasp and hold the day
While the sun itself is slowly
Being swallowed by the night --
The day is almost spent.
The trees which tower above
And all around
Surround the scene with their own
Deep mystery
And look silently on.
The earth is like a vast green carpet
Rolled away
To touch the sunset's crimson hues;
The cattle dot the landscape,
Grazing peacefully in the gathering darkness;
They are at home there in their world;
They know not discontent, disillusion,
Carnage or confusion,
Worry or woe.
Only a short way beyond,
The interstate highway runs,
And so does man,
As man has ever done.
I watch as the lights of cars and trucks
Hurry along, to and fro...
Who knows where they go,
Or why?
And yet I must admit
There is a certain sense of peace and security,
Albeit solitary,
In that steady stream of traffic --
But enough of that;
They are there, and I am here
Where I have always been,
And these sights and sounds
That I hold so dear
Will never fade from my eyes or ears,
And even though the daylight flees,
I do not regret that now,
For the night,
With which I am well familiar,
Has a glory all its own --
See there; the stars are already
Coming to the sky;
Come ahead, come on
And bring the moon along!
I am waiting...waiting
Alone...yet somehow
I am not alone.
Copyright © 2014 by Michael Wrenn
Photo by Margaret Buntin, Advertising Director/Graphic Designer for Batesville The Magazine and The Panolian newspaper
Wil Michael Wrenn
