A cleave poem: Mountain Whispers.
“The first robins are here now, the little green crocus swords have worked their way upward, the first pink buds of the cherry trees are ready to bloom.” Dennis Kelly
| when our mountain cries |
- this |
| our waterfall | - I know all this is you |
| the crocus tips | - your fingertips |
| tender | - stretch up |
| bend gently and | - from the earth |
| the mountain’s breath | - your breath |
| stirs the trees, I see | - your eyes |
| beyond the leaves | - a face in |
| my hands | - outlines |
| in the sky | - Is that you or |
| the first robin singing | - the mountain whispers? |
That is a wonderful poem. Here is a poem I composed in 1998 in what you have named the “cleave style”
rain of poetry
this poem is my writing
about the rain which forms patterns
in the air dripping down
a gray presence through time
a long affair like a kind of scroll
sacred not planned
by its wetness promoting growth
penetrating to some kind of root
deep into everything but with no clear purpose
softening the light diffusing its path
then drifting away toward some unknown destination
Unfortunately the splits are not shown above. You can see the poem on Writing.com in my portfolio.
rain–of poetry
this poem is–my writing
about the rain–which forms patterns
in the air–dripping down
a gray presence–through time
a long affair–like a kind of scroll
sacred–not planned
by its wetness–promoting growth
penetrating–to some kind of root
deep into everything–but with no clear purpose
softening the light–diffusing its path
then drifting away–toward some unknown destination
Richard Dates, 1998