Four Poems.

Four Poems: The Australia Times Interview with Ian Prattis

Short Bio

Dr. Ian Prattis is an award winning author of fourteen books. Recent awards include Gold for fiction at the 2015 Florida Book Festival, 2015 Quill Award from Focus on Women magazine and Silver for Environment from the 2014 Living Now Literary Awards. Julia Ann Charpentier says his: “admirable command of language brings to every scene a striking visual clarity.” Of his Gold for Redemption Anita Rizvi calls it “a riveting novel chronicling one man’s journey through the stages of innocence, darkness, destruction and transformation.” She goes on to say, “What is so exquisite is the tenderness and honesty with which the author deals with the human condition . . . he refuses to ‘sanitize’ experience.” He depicts the stations of a personal Calvary that ultimately leads to Redemption. His poetry, memoirs, fiction, articles, blogs and podcasts appear in a wide range of venues.

Full Profile at http://www.ianprattis.com

Dancing Trees                                                               

Silver birches silhouette the sky

Gather in numbers,

Silently,

Elegantly, grace “en pointe.”

Sway and breathe

Bend and whisper

Leaves shimmer.

They dance to gathering wind.

Murmur Creation’s tones

In synchrony with stellar rhythms,

Their sound carries waves

Rolling into shoreline rocks.

Silver birches silhouette the sky

Silver beauties

dance for us.

Dancing trees

Dancing Trees

       Lament For a Mariner                                                        

The sea is very thin this day

that Archie Ruag has gone.

Master mariner, graceful navigator,

wise teacher of ocean mystery.

No more to grace the ocean’s ships

returned to whence he came.

My sons at eleven years and ten

children in men’s mourning

saw him laid to rest

in my place.

Storms and hail swept the cemetery

and their small frames

grew in maturing

of Archie’s dying.

And I sit here in Canada

writing, grieving,

Knowing the sea is very thin this day

that Archie Ruag has gone.

I saw him last, pale and weary

with calm before his death.

His spirit surrounded by antiseptic ward,

but not beleaguered.

He knows I was not equal

to his dying.

So he spoke gently to me

of ships

and men at sea.

And moorings

safe to guard our boats

from winter’s cruelty.

And so, in this way

did he gently rebuke

my lack of courage

in his dying.

So that I may have strength

in my own time

of death.

Yet I miss him.

An anchor gone from my seasons

of the sea.

The sea is very thin this day.

     Vietnam War Memorial                                                                   

 

Gaunt with grief:

Motionless:

Stilled, Silenced:

Cold December day:

Grey and bleak.

I could not move:

Stunned: Frozen in Time:

Unbelieving:

Damn it all!

Damn!

It!

All!

It was not my war

don’t you know?

They were not my people

don’t you see?

Do I protest too much?

Name engraved black marble slabs

rising from the earth sear into my soul.

Burning deep to feel the pain, of so many deaths, such futility.

Ball of fire flames my chest,

chills the marrow of my bones.

Subterranean edifice hurts me awake,

transforms deep memories

for my own kind.

Fellow Humans.

Americans,

Vietnamese,

All peoples

caught in the sinister web

of dark and deadly shadows

that lurk in all of us:

Hate, Greed and Power.

I circle the profanity of war,

nerve center of our world.

Grimly aware thought:

Our world must be transformed:

Our world must be changed:

And we must do it. Transforming ourselves

then others in swift urgency.

Else the memoirs

of our civilization

are no more than

Monuments To The Dead.

Our Dead:

Yours

And

Mine.

      Weaving

Let me share it –

This symphony of autumn color,

cascading melody from a sky

pastel grey and fiery red.

Descant to the dancing tones of

a painted forest

cooled by lush evergreens.

Sensual beauty,

rhapsody of forest and sunset sky

fused as a golden sheen.

Caught in a still lake

waiting with patience

Beyond time and space,

Waiting

to reflect this moment of

splendor –

Weaving.

Let me share it.

Autumn Sunset

 

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