Poetry Prose and Other Words
by Ken Ingham
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Words can’t explain why nothing bites
On a hot Cacapon afternoon
Or describe the shapes that water makes
Flowing over stones
The way each swirl dissipates
In time for another
How a barely submerged boulder
Makes its presence known
By pointing a wake upstream
Parting water like a miracle.
Curses not verses are what I need
When the hungry mother of large-mouth bass
That lurks beneath that over-leaning sycamore
Tastes every morsel drifting by
With the sole exception of my artificial fly.
And words alone will never keep
No matter how arranged
The pig and chicken factory waste
From seeping into even this
The cleanest river east of Colorado