River Silt

The sky is mottled.
Shy and isolated patches
Of pale blue pop in, out
And stretch a bit.
But clouds eat them up
Ever so hungry.

The sun struggles but fails
To melt them away.
They swarm,
Eager to swamp him,
To stop sculpting shadows
And lighting up mayflies
As they hover and skip on muddy waters.

I watch the struggle
Unsure of outcome.
I am a grain of sand
So small I am no matter,
Just an illusion of substance,
A speck of river silt
In a backwater tidal pool.


About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
This entry was posted in Life, Pandora's box, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to River Silt

  1. john zande says:

    … but you were a mountain once, and will be again, one day 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. cbjulian says:

    I have enjoyed reading your prose! blueridgesprings


  3. Randstein says:

    I love how this poem sweeps through the grand expanse of the sky to the smallest hidden particle beneath, which personifies the individual. It is often the very thing we value the least that enables the grandest capability. It is our insignificance that bonds us and urges us to be more than what we are.

    Liked by 2 people

    • emmylgant says:

      Thank you D. You have a way of looking and seeing that is unique and most encouraging. The dichotomy between the two extremes (one of a kind and yet most insignificant) is a real puzzlement.I suppose we are like snowflakes that way.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Randstein says:

        Yes, snowflakes. That’s it. When I think of snowflakes in terms of what I felt when reading your poem would be the beauty of a single flake is magnified immeasurably by the entire field of snow. That field is framed in the earth and sky and this is where I find it difficult to breath as I take it all in.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Katalina4 says:

    Mmmmm, exquisite tininess – it is a relief, really, that we are but grains of sand…

    Liked by 1 person

  5. arjaybe says:

    On the Canadian Prairies there’s a saying that if there’s enough blue sky to make a man a pair of pants, then it’s not going to rain.

    I don’t know what that has to do with your poem.



    Liked by 1 person

  6. Always the magical metaphors that transport us to a childhood land where clouds are alive and life is full of mystery.

    Liked by 1 person

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