Red anger cools

Thinking of the rhythm of a bodhrán brought this poem.

Photo©Steve Jurvetson


Red anger cools in morning mist,

while doves coo in the waking trees,

slow green and thick the river runs

beneath the bridge that’s stood so long,

it knows each lover’s parting words.

Listen, wind and water to

the mutterings beneath the breath,

beneath the lashes, look and tell me

what is left when all is gone.

Doves stretch and curl their wings about

their only love, most precious gift,

while we who strive to touch the stars,

trip and stumble in the night,

the heart that beats to lead the way,

doused in the dark flood of desires.

No cooing words to soothe the pain,

no winged barque will come for us

and sail into a sunset sky.

Though anger cools, it drips and sets

in livid white like candle wax,

long, greasy scars of cold regrets.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

19 thoughts on “Red anger cools”

  1. This had a rhyme that was hidden inside of it that I loved. Every few words, something would spark in my brain, a faint reminder of another word somewhere before. That was fun.

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