Sunday, January 06, 2008
Ode to Patagonia:
Phillip T. Alden
December 2007
I wrote this poem in a van while driving through Chili. It's my first stab at poetry writing, (and maybe I should be stabbed for my poetry,) and I'm aware that not all good writers are necessarily good poets.
I saw a lone black horse aside a dirt road.
I saw mountains carved by wind and snow.
I saw a horizon that went on forever.
I am in the heart of Patagonia.
I saw a tree that smelt of cinnamon outside a dead cave.
I saw cracked rock touching the clouds, a cathedral of god.
The land spoke to me in hushed tones.
I walked on glacial ice in a temperate zone.
Thistle and daisy, rock and grass.
I saw a family of painted horses aside a dirt road.
Phillip T. Alden
December 2007
I wrote this poem in a van while driving through Chili. It's my first stab at poetry writing, (and maybe I should be stabbed for my poetry,) and I'm aware that not all good writers are necessarily good poets.
I saw a lone black horse aside a dirt road.
I saw mountains carved by wind and snow.
I saw a horizon that went on forever.
I am in the heart of Patagonia.
I saw a tree that smelt of cinnamon outside a dead cave.
I saw cracked rock touching the clouds, a cathedral of god.
The land spoke to me in hushed tones.
I walked on glacial ice in a temperate zone.
Thistle and daisy, rock and grass.
I saw a family of painted horses aside a dirt road.
# posted by Phillip T. Alden @ 11:49 AM 
