Spring Temple

Every sense alive, we make our way
Down the steep slope towards the rippled lake,
Brushing the foliage of multi-green
Abundant sage and grasses in our wake,
With daisies, mustard, brittlebrush and gold
Luring the purple butterflies that take
Our eyes towards the sky, where proud like gods
Of forests stand the redwood trunks that stake
The heavens to the soil beneath our feet,
Dropping their piney spices for our sake.


by Linda Hepner

Comments (6)

This is an Imagist Poem. I'm sitting at my desk by an open window overlooking a lawn with trees and shrubs and a small lake on a night which is already early autumn. In other words, the imagery and mood in the poem and in my immediate reality face each other, mirror each other, amplify each other. That's one of the wonders of poetry - it finds resemblances between things distant and near, and thereby creates a doubled reality and makes an otherwise strange and foreign world familiar. To make the world familiar is one of the goals of poetry in my mind. So you can visit my SPRING TEMPLE and I yours, because in truth they are the same.
Out of the poems of yours that I was browsing, I felt that you used the most breathtaking imagery in this poem. Very nice. -P.J.
As I read this l could smell the crushed grasses and the scented pine as well. What a perfectly beautiful word picture. Well Done, Lilac
I made my way into your temple of words, feeling quite ecstatic. Susiexxx.
I feel as if I've literally just walked through this lush panaroma, Linda. Powerfully-painted piece of writing. Love, Gina.
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