Saturday, March 9, 2013

A Poem: The High Places

The High Places


Larry D. Sweazy 

                                   Ansel longs for the high places,
for Half Dome and El Capitan,
for the frantic call of the Clark’s nutcracker.
Treasures of the heart, of the memory,
of standing on the one inch of earth
that feels like home.

He does not dance in San Francisco.
His workingman’s clothes feel like cold
lead against his skin.
Bank statements, hungry mouths, 
hold him at the bay.
He wonders if life would have been better
as a concert pianist.  Would the applause
have tamed his skyward gaze, 
his longing for silence, for his own art?

There is no looking back, 
but in throws of pain, fatigue 
and frustration, he fears he 
will never reach the summit,
be able to pull himself up and capture
the vista one more time. Or is too late?
Has he kept one foot in the river too long?

Ansel longs for the high places.

 The High Places was previously published at The Red River Review.


Tom Cochrun said...

I really like this poem. I'm a great fan of Adams, but I'm even more devoted to Yosemite, only three and half hours from here. I am always longing to get back.

Larry D. Sweazy said...

Thanks, Tom. I have yet to make it to Yosemite. One day soon I hope to look skyward at Half Dome.

I've always said if I weren't a writer, I would want to be a photographer... AA is a hero, and his choices continue to inspire me.