Barbara Peckham Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

Musings on Fourth Lake.

Misty Lake

In the gray dawn, ghostlike,
A mist rises over the lake
Like a floating whisper.
My shorts and tee shirt 
Are damp and clammy
From hanging on the bedpost
Near the open window.
The dock is slippery, and
The yellow kayak slips
Soundlessly into the water.
The paddle barely ripples
The breathless surface.
I am adrift in my imagination.
I am a loon, skimming
The water with its haunting cry.
I am the Indian Hiawatha 
In his birchbark canoe.
I am Jacques Marquette,
Exploring the Mississippi River,
Watching for Indians.
I am a lone leaf, drifting.
I am the wind and the air 
And the thick gray fog.
I am the water itself, 
Calm on the surface but
Teeming with life, as it
Wends its way to the sea.
I am the wind and the rain,
The sun and the clouds.
I am all things in this 
Haunting, misty world.
As the fog slowly lifts,
Lightens, and turns golden,
I slip back into myself and
Paddle toward the shore.

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Kim Rodrigues July 18, 2021 at 3:47 PM Such lovely imagery as you forget yourself and just become! God bless! Barbara Peckham July 18, 2021 at 5:07 PM Thank you very much for your lovely comment. I really appreciate your reading my work.

L Milton Hankins July 17, 2021 at 6:28 PM Marvelous writing. I loved the allusions to the words of Longfellow and the historical Marquette. The poem flows nicely, just like the river. Comes the time when I must "paddle toward the shore," too. Barbara Peckham July 17, 2021 at 10:49 PM A bit of whimsey or philosophy or just my meandering mind!