Of Late, I Think of Oxford

My eyes float away to coordinates unmapped
By objects in plain view. Of late, I think
Of Oxford and of trees sharing their domain
With the sun’s rays, casting patches of gold
And umber upon lawns immaculate as I float down
Into a range that loved me unconditionally.
A stairway of branches leads me to an abode
Of happiness, obscure to present day, made
Abundant by and beyond homemade rolls
And pickled turnips. In the land of education,
Free love and Faulkner, let me remain echoing
On these degrees where time is subservient.
Where magnolia trees stand with resilient leaves
Veiling the landscape; while their ivory blooms,
Like debutantes, fragrant the air delicately
But with a commanding presence. Spontaneity
In picnics of canned tuna with an abrupt
Absurdity of smoking pine needles culminating
In crabapples eaten beyond satiation and lessons
On how to hold a kitten. Sliced lemons sprinkled
With salt while tables of ice-cream stretch out
Far beyond the sky of the Fourth of July. Candy
Cigarettes between our fingers and scraped skin
Behind ripped clothes to barter with trees
For sour, crunchy cherries warmed by the sun,
Unwashed. Bike rides in hidden paths known
Only to lightning bugs, a wonder captured in jars
Then released to the waves of the radio
Blasting the soundtrack to memories garnished
By haunts, documenting a few tears, abundant
Laughs and fear unknown. Journeys to a white house
For tales and treasures redeeming, allowing us
To run wild without authority yet protected
By a force unspoken. We fools and children
Alike. Unafraid. In complex shadows, swinging
Into the sky, watching it darken before our eyes,
Assisted by giants passing through. Dancing in Greek
Circles for no occasion. Blue and orange explorations
Of an empty coliseum – the tigers’ playground,
Unaware of what lies behind the next curve,
Walking up hills, down valleys intrepid, curfews
Nonexistent. Minds powered on their own, sustained
By nourishment unplanned, taught by worms burrowing
And turning earth, watching white strawberries
Speckled with dark seeds. Edifying others in words
Of the land between bus rides stopping at red bricks
In verse with the Brothers Grimm and home again
To pink bricks – count them five, to string wild
Flowers of onion blooms across infinity between
Friends running to chanted choruses of Red Rover
In hopes of breaking bonds of flesh and bone
And camaraderie. Foreign tongues best converse
In fun. Love and laughter, remedies for bee stings
And untamed hair. Standing high with hands touching
The moon and feet atop the slide reaching for magic
Jelly beans on a hidden shelf. A static junket
From which I refocus, improved, with veins flowing
Blood less sweet, more simmered for an era beyond
Jurisdiction, expired but treasured beyond gold.
Of late, I think of Oxford.

Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.


About Shainbird

"A lonely craftsman putting one word after another."
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Of Late, I Think of Oxford

  1. gdalexander says:

    Your poetry is brimming with powerful imagery, and you really know how to transport a reader! Excellent work! I hope to come back and see what else you’re working on.
    – G.D.
    Also, I have a new writing blog that I created after self-publishing my first novel for the Kindle. Please check it out and share your writing experiences with me!

  2. Shainbird says:

    Thank you so much, GD. Your words are empowering! I would love to read some of your work and experience your writing. I look forward to it.

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