October 2015
I am a scuba diving, distance running, retired park ranger grandfather living in California. My work has appeared in a number of publications including: Guernica, Raleigh Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Vinyl Poetry, The Adroit Journal, and The Monarch Review. I've been nominated for Best of the Net, Best New Poets, and three-times for the Pushcart Prize. http://kevinheatonpoetry.webstarts.com/
Barren Fork Creek
On foot, off a country road into dense deliverance,
away from all things carnal, save a single beer can;
left to evoke melancholy.
Awakened by the break in silence, a lithe
cottonmouth lists through my stride; disturbed,
but not riled enough to strike.
The stream lies just beyond trees in clearings made
by her motion, whispering the sweet siren song:
“Come Follow Me.” There, amidst 10 o'clock
reflections, she meanders around bends, and through
fallen oaks; carving out a legacy to days gone by.
Willingly, I enter the coolness, blemishing her beat.
Before, only veiled hints: a surface swirl, or root-
anchored snag-straddle dare betray the syncopated
rhythms toward her rendezvous with saltier waters
south. There, in the depths, her briny lover awaits
their amorous embrace.
Deep mysterious pools flank the channel, beckoning.
A prized smallmouth awaits the next angler; a bonus
beyond the solitude and escape. Next time, I’ll oblige
the challenge.
On foot, off a country road into dense deliverance,
away from all things carnal, save a single beer can;
left to evoke melancholy.
Awakened by the break in silence, a lithe
cottonmouth lists through my stride; disturbed,
but not riled enough to strike.
The stream lies just beyond trees in clearings made
by her motion, whispering the sweet siren song:
“Come Follow Me.” There, amidst 10 o'clock
reflections, she meanders around bends, and through
fallen oaks; carving out a legacy to days gone by.
Willingly, I enter the coolness, blemishing her beat.
Before, only veiled hints: a surface swirl, or root-
anchored snag-straddle dare betray the syncopated
rhythms toward her rendezvous with saltier waters
south. There, in the depths, her briny lover awaits
their amorous embrace.
Deep mysterious pools flank the channel, beckoning.
A prized smallmouth awaits the next angler; a bonus
beyond the solitude and escape. Next time, I’ll oblige
the challenge.
©2015 Kevin Heaton