I love poetry. I used to write much more poetry than I presently do. I feel bad about that. Consider this part one in rectifying this. This poem was written gazing out from an airplane window while flying over Scotland in 1989. It was finished in 1991, the next time I was in Scotland.
High flying, window glass reveals tattered floor-
Pristine heaven greets eyes open to curving planet yonder
Stretching, reaching, sky-borne, we soar.
Place of kings bringing wonder to hearts that wonder.
Stipple green, ground richly steeped in lush, purple hue-
Woven pattern of road-cut scenes moves closer,
Sky meets peripheral sky, horizon’s hazy blue.
Shadows run as daylight comes.
Well-fermented scenes from ancient dreams-
Walls of stone, hearts of flesh, eyes of steel,
Pageantry in motion, all is as it seems.
Like God in man, surreal kisses real.
Robert Rife © 1991