Repost – a poem, Diary of a Wanderer, by K. A. Brace

This poem by K. A. Brace made me smile. It’s a melody of words that paint a collage of imaginings and concepts that are not the slightest bit farfetched. If you click on either the image or the title, you’ll be taken to the original post by K. A. Brace at his blog site,  The Mirror Obscura.  I can’t wait to spend more time on his site and listen to more of his poetry, which he has recorded. Look for this on his posts:  Click the play button and you will hear him read the poem.

Diary of a Wanderer
by K. A. Brace

Since starting I’ve kept a diary. At day’s end before I rest
Beneath a solid roof or blanket of stars above I note
Where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what was said along my way.
In the morning I write again though turning to the book’s back
And write about my journey, as if traveling in the future
Always working backwards where I left off the day before.

You may wonder what I write about things I haven’t done.
Just as I describe all the things I pass so I also describe
All those things I imagine I might encounter as I wander
Towards myself as if the two of us were as real as one.

For fact last night I wrote that yesterday I passed
Through a cloud that had descended along the road.
Inside I found images of the world turned upside down
Painted on the sides of fish that swam in schools of thought
–A philosophy not unlike a palindrome but meaning
One thing read forward and the opposite going back
And all the treeness of the trees in a forest had been given
To flights of children who had run away from homes
Where fairy tales were no longer held as true to life.

This morning I imagined then wrote about coming to a hill
Where all the rain that fell was set on fire by the laughter
Of purple birds whose wing spans were so great
They had to fly miles apart so as not to touch each other.
The people in that countryside collected the flames in pots
And brought them home to cook their meals made
From giant marigolds that grew in profusion in their valley.

I have seen mountains walk uphill and imagined men as tall
As the deepest oceans; heard rivers speak in foreign tongues
And made believe there are women so beautiful and poised
That they could make great deserts turn into lush, green gardens.

One day, where I’ve been will meet on a page
With everything I’ve imagined I have done.
There, I’ll make my place then, so the middle
Of my journey, home at last, will not be its end.