Sage Saga of a Home On a Hill

Sage Saga Of A Home On A Hill Having drank from the sun at meridian, The moon drunk with the light Of reflection, always dissipated dreaded darkness Seeking to veil the Hill—Raised bump Of nature’s glowing face; This swollen womb of nature nourishing beginnings Of generations plodding centuries wounded With trials and tribulations—Grand Canyon invisible walls Mocking the abyss of Middle Passage ocean depths Carpeted with ivory bone trees rattled by circadian waves Splashing stilled sandy sea shore stones sunken in time. Beginnings begin with the eruption of sunlight; Rays flowing lava-like to chloroplast genes Of generations of quantum leaping Greens Synthesizing seminal spirits spewing Audacious faith—audacious faith blooming Mushroom cloud determination rising As a risen national family tree; Branches thrusting tentacles forever upward. Streaming through, flows a river Brazos Whose residents often crawled, netted and hooked Their way to the Hill—accepting all aching To give or receive freely—nourishment. A gumbo gathering of love supreme; Charged sable soul soars—sailing Pillow puffed verandah skies; Stoking old horizons—searching Mountain top promise land dreams. Where I have been I have just begun to go; Returning to the beginning— To tap the toasted roots anchoring the journey’s Design—etched beneath the shade of limbs Of an ancient Chinaberry tree Looking out over the Hill— Shadowing shelled street that oysters built. The senior poem now resonate an ebony perspective: “…It’s sweet to dream of Venice…It’s great to think of Rome… But when it comes to living…There’s no place like home… So it’s home again and home again for me…” My Hill—My home…My family tree. Here I grew; here I be.