Poetry Corner: Pristine Pools

Today I have been thinking a lot about Yellowstone National Park. Why? Hmm, I could say that it's because I would like to get away to a natural retreat and enjoy the splendor of the earth. But in all reality my inner emotions have been all over the place. The erratic internal volatility of the need to take my son and husband and just get away is on the overwhelming side of things. It sure would be nice to say: Dear Reality, would you please go sit in the corner over there while I take my dreams and go this way?

While I have been thinking this way today, I remembered a poem I wrote the last time I was at Yellowstone (see below). It was such a beautiful place, but its beauty was created out of seriously volatile events over a very long period of time. It's amazing to me that water by appearance is so beautiful, yet has become incredibly deadly to the touch. Now I'm not saying that through tough times in my life I have been made so beautiful that if you come near me I might melt your skin off, like out of some Indiana Jones movie. What I am saying is that: 1) Tough times can make beautiful things happen. 2) Patience has the capacity to create tremendous power. 3) If I remain aware, I will be less likely to lose sight of what is really important. 

I have the choice of how I will react. I have the choice of finding a way to thrive in the now, always. Tough things happen. Hard decisions have to be made. And the beauty in this is that, I have a choice. Decisions, decisions, decisions!

Pristine Pools

treading the planks

of this forsaken land

I ponder the life and

death of all I see…

a boiling brew of earth

begins to drum erratically

occasionally gurgling its refrain,

as a foul misty stench

coats my skin with an unusual warmth,

and my lungs begin to burn

elements combine,

molding everything together …

dying beautifully

deep within this fissure

I feel the foul heat begin to call –

an inexplicable urge to touch

the prismatic lake

ricochets

within me…

staring at the mouth wide open

I am temporarily paralyzed –

I feel my beauty fade

the longer I gaze, yet

I am captivated

by the subtle harshness

hidden between the vapor,

I remain –

looking into the clearest chasm

below the calm basin

images of terror dance off-beat

as the earth ruptures inward

while pain echoes,

migrating deeper

agitating the fragile balance

not yet ready to burst

not yet ready to take me…

I am suddenly released

with a promise

and a threat

By Diana M. Bateman

2005 ©