The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.2005, Side 39

Vol. 59 #4
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
165
Poetry
The Secret
by Ronald Friesen
It is not the voice of reason
I hear calling from behind me
It’s something less provocative
Distraction if I give its name
My verse becomes dry prairie grass
Before its hungry flame
That flame is always near it seems
Hungry to devour any
Thought of rhyme or simple reason
I might happen to embrace
Seldom simple is this passion
To discover verse with grace
As in nature comes a moment
Often with a glass of wine
A quiet voice in atmosphere
Revealing simple rhyme
Knowing I am fool for finish
One to squander precious time
Time that could be given to
Companions and completion
So many worthy tasks will wait
For one more set of wistful verse
I could see if just obsession
Blind desire makes it worse
And so, once more I steal the time
Away from worldly task and matter
To contemplate cerebral seeds
Nurture them to health and growing
Smithing form from shapeless phrase
Into some worthy thing near knowing
I have not will to quell this passion
It is not what I’d have found
If left alone in blackened vacuum
This is not the task I’d choose
The voice, though, says the secret is
Too much for me to lose.