An image can make quite an impression.
I still remember clearly the day I received the book cover image for my recent story collection, No Turning Back: Stories. I had received the email from world-renowned graphic artist, Hugh Syme, and the image attachment was hanging there, taunting me to open it. I tensed with excitement and clicked on the icon. The image flashed in my mind, seared it with a bolt of lightning. Decision made. Changed forever.
Since that day more than two years ago, the image has taken the driver's seat in my mind, taking me places I would not normally go, making me think beyond the boundaries of my imagination. I might even say the image has haunted me, for I still struggle with the meaning and the implications it conveys. What the hell does it mean?
A few weeks ago, I was mulling over poem ideas and the sheep popped into my head, as they often do. The damn sheep. So, I took the opportunity to look at the world through their eyes, in an effort to maybe, if I was lucky, gain some greater perspective and understanding. All I know for sure is the words leaked from my pen on to the page and I was left with the following poem.
On the Brink of Discovery
Two sheep stand at the edge of the precipice,
A lush green pasture under their cloven hooves,
Blue skies off into infinity but
Over the edge and down below lurks
A blackness broken only by a
Million blinking stars and a lonely moon
Lit by an unknown source.
The sheep seem to know that to
Step over the broken, rocky ledge
Will mean certain death, but
They are torn, for they are creatures of instinct,
Followers, but there is
No one left to follow but each other.
They look around, curiously, and wonder
Where the shepherd and the
Rest of the flock have gone.
The precipice represents the great divide
Between reality and dreams,
Between logic and facts and
The irrational delusions of a madman, and
The sheep struggle to make sense of
Their perceptions, but
They can assess for they are smarter than
They think, or we know, and
They pause and contemplate:
The fine thread between day and night.
The heart-flutter of hope and despair.
The inherent comedy of their daily lives.
Were the earliest Greek Philosophers insane and
Was Columbus’s course misdirected?
Is there a god, and if so, why has she waited so long
To lead us to this new, promised land?
Shall we remain in the pasture of comfort or leap
Into the adventure of the unknown?
The sheep rested in the tall grasses and ate.
Distraught that their brethren had left them,
They took comfort in knowing that
They at least had each other and could wait,
Together, for as long as they wished . . .
Until the answer came.
I still remember clearly the day I received the book cover image for my recent story collection, No Turning Back: Stories. I had received the email from world-renowned graphic artist, Hugh Syme, and the image attachment was hanging there, taunting me to open it. I tensed with excitement and clicked on the icon. The image flashed in my mind, seared it with a bolt of lightning. Decision made. Changed forever.
Since that day more than two years ago, the image has taken the driver's seat in my mind, taking me places I would not normally go, making me think beyond the boundaries of my imagination. I might even say the image has haunted me, for I still struggle with the meaning and the implications it conveys. What the hell does it mean?
A few weeks ago, I was mulling over poem ideas and the sheep popped into my head, as they often do. The damn sheep. So, I took the opportunity to look at the world through their eyes, in an effort to maybe, if I was lucky, gain some greater perspective and understanding. All I know for sure is the words leaked from my pen on to the page and I was left with the following poem.
On the Brink of Discovery
Two sheep stand at the edge of the precipice,
A lush green pasture under their cloven hooves,
Blue skies off into infinity but
Over the edge and down below lurks
A blackness broken only by a
Million blinking stars and a lonely moon
Lit by an unknown source.
The sheep seem to know that to
Step over the broken, rocky ledge
Will mean certain death, but
They are torn, for they are creatures of instinct,
Followers, but there is
No one left to follow but each other.
They look around, curiously, and wonder
Where the shepherd and the
Rest of the flock have gone.
The precipice represents the great divide
Between reality and dreams,
Between logic and facts and
The irrational delusions of a madman, and
The sheep struggle to make sense of
Their perceptions, but
They can assess for they are smarter than
They think, or we know, and
They pause and contemplate:
The fine thread between day and night.
The heart-flutter of hope and despair.
The inherent comedy of their daily lives.
Were the earliest Greek Philosophers insane and
Was Columbus’s course misdirected?
Is there a god, and if so, why has she waited so long
To lead us to this new, promised land?
Shall we remain in the pasture of comfort or leap
Into the adventure of the unknown?
The sheep rested in the tall grasses and ate.
Distraught that their brethren had left them,
They took comfort in knowing that
They at least had each other and could wait,
Together, for as long as they wished . . .
Until the answer came.