This is the way/ the bright sky calls,
To dusty death/ at the end of the path.
The tired push and shove/ to the haven of peace,
With no respite/ we follow our longings,
But the dream recedes/ into a blue haze.
Though I can almost touch it/ this magic we longed for,
Its glitter is veiled/ this place we constructed,
By the unyielding cares/ of our heart and bones,
Of a world full of darkness/ to cradle our ending.
The Daily Post prompt is: understanding.
A cleave poem, because I haven’t written one in a while.
Night sky is black/ shot with light
A sheet pierced with holes/ a million stars
And a light that shines behind/ showing the way
From another world, I long to go/ to a better place than this
Though the weight in between/ so dark and full of pain
Stirs the air thick with mists/ I can barely see
Wings white and strong will bear me/ across the feather-light sky
And a story guide my way/ to where the spirit is free.
The lithe cat springs/ the roof tiles slippery
But the bird has flown/ in the falling rain
Balancing, scrambling/ claws lose their grip
Down from the tree/ cat tumbles, twisting
She pads through the long grass/ as cars flash by
Wary eyes on the traffic / through a veil of rain
Cat glides through the shadows/ just a tawny streak
No more hunting/ so quickly it’s over
She takes the path homeward/ her bright day has ended
Until the stars call/ and she stalks the night.
Another poem for NaPoWriMo’s Earth day prompt
The earth shifts / the year turns
From dark to light/ grey to green, new leaves uncurling
The stars are fading/ palest blossom on a black bough
Night is slipping/ dark times forgotten
Beneath the dawn line/ dappled still with moonlight
Where day is hatching/ in a flurry of birdsong
Ravelling up the past/ spring flags unfurl
Perpetual motion/ eternal cycle.
The NaPoWriMo theme today is couples, things in pairs or halves. Since this theme fits the cleave poetry form, and I love cleave poems, I don’t need a better excuse to post this one.
If you’re not familiar with this form, a cleave poem is in two halves, each of which can be read as a separate, and preferably totally different poem, but read together they form a third poem.
The day is dying/ the dog fox said
Stars palely glittering/ the moon will be dark
The sun has set / time for hunting
In dark corners/ fat mice scurrying
Shadows lengthen / beneath cool branches
The brooding silence breaks/ ghost owl calls
Fear echoing through lonely rooms/ the dog fox answers
A dark voice from ancient times / Come, the night is waiting.
A cleave poem.
Photo ©Henry Mühlpfordt
In a thousand places/ the night’s sweet dark is over
Dawn breaks and shatters/ but memories still linger
Scattering shards of darkness/ among the crumpled sheets.
Above the hills / the last stars are fading
As the daylight grows/ and the first birds singing
The empty space yawns/ like a promise fulfilled.
I hear your footsteps/ walking down the winding road
The white gull cries/ on its way to the sea
And I know you have gone/ in the dewy morning
Leaving starlit memories/ forever my hand in yours.
I stand in the rain/ the rain is falling,
Watch you walk away/ among the roses.
No words to stop you/ recalling summer’s past,
The good times forgotten/ when our love was new.
Puddles are forming/ grey sky reflected,
Like memories leaking/ in droplets so perfect,
Tears in the wind/ shaken from rose blooms,
Can you not see them?/ Can you hear them fall?