Ken's Poetry

Lake Matheson

Mount Cook leans from the sky
as clouds like curtains open
its mirror image spearing us from the lake
and broken snow-cap freezing on our eyes.

Across the silence comes the bell bird’s song
then Stefan’s clarinet searching for the mood
scales the upturned mountain to our ears.
Somewhere out there, where reeds
like lips, meet reflected reeds he sits
lacing his music through the scene,
saying more than we could say with words.

Clouds like cataracts grow
the mountain fades
the music dies and silence falls.
The bell bird chimes.