Instead of one poem from each of four sets of words, I took a second poem from the first set. I had a feeling the oracle had something to add.
But blood is lazy,
it sleeps still and cool,
waxes only at madness,
Like the storm shadow
on the sea,
beneath, lies smooth water.
I wade in the shallows,
storms at my fingertips.
One of the last Jim Harrison quotes from Jilly.
“We walk the bottom of an ocean we call sky”
WordPress is being funny today, tells me I don’t have any media and asks would I like to upload something, then tells me an error occurred, tells me I can’t upload any media, tells me I don’t have anything in my gallery, then uploads a monster version of a normal sized file. I should maybe have turned WP off and restarted.
There is a road home now
That we never trod before,
Where we walk in tree shadow
As we’d walk the ocean floor,
To woodpecker music,
And the drum of acorn rain
On the musky, minty earth,
That beats a wild refrain.
Beneath green branches scented
As any rocking sea,
It sails our footsteps homeward,
Where we were meant to be.
Going out night-walking is a new experience for us, new and a bit unsettling. There are no street lights, no houses and no cars, so it’s dark—very dark. For the dverse open night.
Pale-coated hound in the moonlight,
Silver-haired and silent tongued,
Listens to the sounds of the shadows.
Beneath the thin moon, acorns tumble from the tree,
Branches crack and the music of the poplars
Is like waves on the strand.
I peer into the darkness between the moonbeams,
Where the hound sniffs and pricks his ears,
Where a subtle world of half-tints and whisperings
Creeps and pads through dew-damp grass,
An orbit, parallel but never touching
The banal and sharp-edged, puddled reflection,
That is our meagre human realm.
For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt. The words to use this week are:
RIGHT | ARROW | HEAR | CHILD | GOOD
The subject of the painting doesn’t fit the poem, but I like the image
To the heart,
straight as a die.
I would fly
if I could,
but it would be no good,
you would follow my flight,
to the end of the night,
reel me in like a fish,
take my hands, make a wish.
In the newborn,
I hear you whisper low,
words fall, soft and slow,
our life as one
has just begun.
An autumnal poem for the dverse prompt.
The sound of acorns raining on the roadway,
The dry leaf-whisper as the sun goes down,
I hear wings beat in the last light of the evening,
And colours fade to misty grey and brown.
You said you’d find the long road through the oak trees,
And make your home with me where blackbird sings,
But all I see are drifting leaves of gold and flame,
And all I hear is the beat of parting wings.
When winter grips the drifts of fallen leaves,
And the acorn rain is rotted on the ground,
The blackbird huddles on the bare oak bough,
As hope and this cold year both die without a sound.
Trixie found a baby mouse,
Scared it half to death and watched it quiver,
Hunched over its fear.
Bored, she stretched and let me take it,
Put it on the sill in the quiet sun.
No sport in babies, she said,
Let it grow.
Then we’ll see.
Finbar found a toad,
He’s good at that.
He never sees the pheasants or the hares,
Or any largish prey.
He hunts toads.
At night, they lumber from the ditch
Climb the banks and hunker down
Among the brambles.
Finbar spots them,
Overcomes his fear and pounces,
Perhaps because he is on a lead
And knows we’ll hold him back
So he’ll not take any harm.
Still, he finds toads for us,
Even if we choose to leave them be.
Ninnie hunts cobwebs
And dog biscuit.
She finds lots of both.
Life is good, she says,
When there’s a barn and an attic,
And the dog biscuit tub
doesn’t close properly.
This tanka is for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday. I’ve used a synonym for one of the theme words.
So quiet, the dusk—
birds settled, no day things stir,
in the hushed air. I watch stars
prick the darkness with music.