October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
Black horses, bronze sunsets and crystal mountains: fields of corn: clouds catching all the light of tonight’s moon: birds with golden throat: clusters of kindly and memorable sycamores: wild cherries, wild roses and cranberries: lemons: weeping willows over honeysuckles: monarch butterflies and milkweed pods: cougars, bobcats and panthers: iris, dandelions, rhubarb: waterfalls, pools, moss: ivy and rosehips, gusts, breezes and thunderstorms: the honeybee and the hummingbird: seacoasts: peaches, pears, pomegranates: grottoes, canyons and mesas: oranges, limes, plums, dates, strawberries: fir trees, maple trees, apple trees: goldfish and swordfish: falcons and parrots, chestnuts and walnuts: almonds, Brazil nuts and hazel nuts.
October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
The dark spirit of gladness is her mirror in a garden of thoughtful dreams tonight. These are her petals brought from rivers of song. The river of everyone is the river of song. After a devotion to her I release my heart to her. My sunlight is released. Her mirror is painted with the hard colors of cherished maples. She steps before me, smeared lightning. If it is energy rising from her, it is the soft poems that shall follow her quietly. Dear dream after dear dream from her and we know it is a crystalline Sunday royal from rhyme.
October 2000 | poetry, William B. Hunt
This is something for you to remember from The Book of Shanda. I feel that I am aware of it whenever lovely wind is blowing on her, whenever the stars are shining over her, and there are millions of stars, honied stars. Summer shall warm her and the winter enrage. How easily you shall remember these words written in The Book of Shanda and take them to heart. I am aware of it when night falls upon her, and words for this are engraved in the silver book. I know that mysterious landscape where moonlight finds her sparkling darkness away.
