PoeMarin

By Bob Dougherty
 
I.
 
See the valleys with the hills --
Rounded hills!
What a scene of wonderment their gallery instills!
How they ripple, ripple, ripple,
Until they are out of sight!
With the trees that dot and stipple
All the sky does inverse ripple
Lifting birds into their flight;
Rolling on, on, on,
Until all focus is gone,
To the scintiloccultation that so visually stills,
From the hills, hills, hills, hills,
Hills, hills, hills --
From the rising and the rippling of the Marin hills!
 
II.
 
See the full moon on the hills --
Moonlit hills!
What a mystic moonlight vision such enchantment fills!
Through the calm clear air of night,
Shadow hills in such dim light!
Framed by distant twinkling stars,
And all agleam,
Join the lights of homebound cars,
As a coyote sings good night, a few bars,
To Mount Tam!
Oh, from where the darkness chills,
In shelter the exasperation of daylight spills!
How home refills,
And soothes ills!
Helps to rebuild!  Strengthen wills,
For the sunrise that fulfills,
On the rising and the rippling
Of the hills, hills, hills,
Of the hills, hills, hills, hills,
Hills, hills, hills --
From the moonlight and the undulating Marin hills! 
 
III.
 
See the dark clouds in the hills --
Wind swept hills!
What sight of pending storm, now, nervously sends chills!
As the eye grasps for more light,
Crash of thunder bangs affright!
Standing firmly as they must,
They brace for each gust, gust,
Oak trees scream!
As the thunder storm comes banging, banging, how the rain pours, pours
With a circumconvolution that so savagely roars, roars
Whirling tempest soars, soars, soars
As if nature, earth deplores,
Then halts!    Just drips   on forest floors,
Leaves become small reservoirs,
Sun breaks beam, as clinging drops gleam.
Oh, the hills, hills, hills,
Now the sun, the mist distills
So pristine!
How they plunge and role and rise!
What a grandeur they comprise
As the storm leaves temper flaring, hills serene!
Yet, a muffled thunder crash,
Bumping, banging,
The gods bowling.
One last distant lightning flash
To the eye is still a thrill.
Sun show shining
Rainbow glowing
So, the torrent builds then stills,
In the storm past tree cast everlasting undulating hills --
In the hills --
In the hills, hills, hills, hills,
Hills, hills, hills --
From the storm washed wind swept rolling Marin Hills! 
 
IV.
 
See the bay framed by the hills --
Timeless hills!
What an interwoven landscape this vision instills!
Contemplation in daylight,
Dreams deliver in the night!
While the tidal heart beats rhythm of its own!
Bridges are tides of cars,
Flo with sun, then ebb with stars.
Fog horns moan,
As gulls plunge from their gyre to float,
And feed in the wake of a boat,
Tow ropes groan!
And waves rolling, rolling, rolling,
As if nothing to atone,
Full of power they keep rolling,
Toward the shoreline piled with stone --
How two worlds, below and above,
Meet where sun-sparkles dance with love.
They are Nymphs: --
And their King it is who rolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls.
A wind from the hills!
And his merry swell refills,
With the wind waves are frills!
And he splashes, as he wills;
Rolling on, on, on,
With no care if dusk or dawn,
To the wind from the hills --
From the hills:
Rolling on, on, on,
Like a line erased, redrawn,
To the rolling of the hills --
Of the hills, hills, hills --
To the knolling of the hills;
Rolling on, on, on,
When nil he refills,
Like a web undone, re-spun
From the rolling of the hills --
Of the hills, hills, hills --
To the rippling of the hills,
Of the hills, hills, hills, hills,
Hills, hills, hills --
From the shoreline and the image casting Marin hills!

Note:  Inspired by Poe, Bells.