A puente inspired by Merril making me think about blue horses, and by watching a peregrine falcon hunting.
Some days there is no horizon,
no sharp edge to cling to with bitten nails.
Some days time slips into obscurity
like insouciant pigeons,
lapped up by the waving trees.
Some days there is no light, no laughter,
and I see no masts of tall ships,
white sails billowing,
~rising on the rolling blue~
of some skies a silver speck hangs
in feathered stillness until the stoop,
and the world tilts over the horizon’s edge,
I make a bird-wish that fills the sails
and rides a herd of blue horses eastward,
over the rolling fields of dreams,
to eat red apples from my hand.
Another Jilly poem. A rhymer this time, inspired by the line:
“Such fragile wings”
~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason
The firmness of your grip I thought was love,
The light in your deep eyes, a burning fire,
Together we would race the clouds above,
I never dreamed we’d flounder in the mire.
The songs I made could never reach my tongue,
Bright moonlit castles, daydreams fell apart,
I gathered roses, in the mud you flung
Their sweetness, nothing I made touched your heart.
You held me down when I reached for the sky,
I never touched the place where blackbird sings,
Against the blue, a slender perch on high—
You never thought I had such fragile wings.
The subject of the Redon pastel drawing is Pandora, but what she seems to have released is beauty.
I dance among the debris of my dreams,
Scattered in a cloud about your head.
They fall as soft as feathers, shine as bright,
Though you may never see or taste their light.
My arms are full of moonbeams, roses sweet,
And robin’s song fills every heart but yours.
Listen, to the truth his music brings—
There is room for you and all your fears
In these silver arms, where moon-sweet beauty sings.
As was to be expected, the oracle produced a mixed bag this morning.
Like a chant,
raw and bitter,
a black wind blows,
ripping through sea mists,
it storms the sun,
putting dreams to sleep
in the shadow of the moon.
The promise of light grows,
through the gentle night.
and star songs run,
into the sun.
At dusk the breeze grows gentle,
full of summer secrets
and river songs.
I follow the path
through the quiet shade,
where the wild earth breathes
in bright blue peace.
Night growls its secrets,
steely fish listen to angel voices.
Drink this cool cup
to the dark sky,
embrace the rhythms of the dance,
wake up to joy,
the wild salt ocean
of my heart.
Spring struggles on the quickening bough,
The tender blossom’s falling now,
Pushed by uncurling leaves.
And you, my life’s brilliant dreams,
That grew at night when moonlight streams,
What brash new vision breathes,
Supplanting with glossy mirror tricks,
Your luscious rose-scented fabrics?
Whatever; my heart grieves.
The oracle sent this rather beautiful but melancholy message this morning. I’ll try again. She might have more to say.
Shadows on the sea,
red moonshine or rust?
Love is cooling,
and beneath black water,
no tiny symphony soars.
A sad day,
this death of dreams.
Twitter poem sequence.
Bound about by freezing fog,
captive in a sea of ice,
I reach out to the sharpest star,
round my fingers wind its hair,
feel its glitter in my blood,
shower you with wishes.
Breaking the ice,
fateful stars look down,
shards of glitter
in the dark water.
Cold the earth, the sea,
in winter’s grip,
warm, your hand
Seas of stars
roll above the winter night,
too far, too bright
to feel the cold,
basking in moonlight,
for our dreams,
the colour of yearning,
tingling with the taste of summer honey,
to spread their scarlet wings
and take flight.