Poem #233 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.
Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction
will the lake
beseech the wind
the ripples
to recede
the sky
to present a settled face
of blue
the pine trees
to lean forward
around the water’s edge
the cliffs
on the yonder side
in their best
variegated ochre
tints
to tall themselves
into elegance
all
to be still
and at best
for the magic
of a reflection
will now
be forged
© Frank Prem 2018
Bachelard and me Poem #234: aspiring to white
The final photo is lovely, so still and beautiful.
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Coincidence, Anne. Just happened to have pics to hand of the lake I’d focused on for the poem.
Serendipity, I think.
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Yes!
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Very nice, Frank.
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Thanks Arris. A pretty lake.
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