Night wind and the fox

Franz_Marc_Füchse_1913

 

In the dawn damp

at the forest’s edge,

a red shadow glides.

Bird hush breaks

at sunrise

bright as the brush

of a sleeping fox.

*

March

and mist blows in from the sea

coating my lips in salt

and the electric tang

of unseen vastness.

*

In the night,

a cry,

a bark wilder than any dog’s,

and the sterile concrete of the streets

shivers at the sound.

*

There is a window in the wind

that blows across the river.

Look carefully and you will see

wild swans flying home.

FFfAW: The fox’s tale

I saw this photo prompt on Lynn Love’s blog and a story immediately sprang to mind. If you too feel inspired, here’s the link to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt.

The photo is courtesy of Tim Livingston (the Forester Artist)

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A long time it’s been here, nights and nights and more nights. Still the smell hangs in the air like death. Mice come here now and birds. Mice and birds don’t know much, don’t smell death. Not like us. Us knows.

Men comed here over and over in the thing, comed stomping with death in their hands. Us would run and hide. Birds didn’t. Birds is stupid, don’t know to hide. Us sawed what happened to birds. Then one time, earth opened and breathed, enough. Us heard. Men didn’t. Earth opened and men’s thing tumbled inside. They left it there, caught in earth’s jaws. Us waited and waited nights and nights and more nights. But the thing was dead.

Mice come here now and birds. Mice and birds don’t remember anything. Us remembers. Us stays away. Except when us is hungry and us remembers scampering stupid mice. Quick snap snap snap. Blood and tiny squeals. Then us runs away back to the safe earth.

A long time it’s been here. Still it smells of death.

 

You take me through the starry night

A cascade poem for the dVerse open night, because I like cascade poems.

Niko_Pirosmani._A_Fox_in_a_Moon_Night._Oil_on_oilcloth._State_Art_Museum_of_Georgia,_Tbilisi,_Georgia

You take me through the starry night,

To where the wind sighs in the sedge,

Bedecked in shadows like the fox.

 

When the wind blows through the trees,

And the sky’s bright coping tumbles down,

You take me through the starry night.

 

I’ll go with you and take your hand,

While stars and lynchpins shoot away,

To where the wind sighs in the sedge.

 

We share our heartbeats with the drum

Of feet that tread on broken stars,

Bedecked in shadows like the fox.

The vixen searches for her mate

And another Minute Poem for the Daily Post prompt: Forbidden.

Franz_Marc_-_Foxes

You must not turn your back, he said,

Or bow your head,

For wolves will snap,

Hunters entrap.

 

Keep to the shadows, learn to hide,

To slip and glide.

The gentle night

Will see you right.

 

And so I walk where I should not,

A slow dog trot

Among the trees,

The silent breeze.

 

For at the end of this dark lane,

An end to pain.

I’ll meet you there

If you but dare.

The day is dying

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.

Niko_Pirosmani._A_Fox_in_a_Moon_Night._Oil_on_oilcloth._State_Art_Museum_of_Georgia,_Tbilisi,_Georgia

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.

Microfiction: Sunset #writephoto

Another enchanting photo from Sue Vincent for her weekly prompt, a 99 word story inspired by the photo.

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They had run out of time. There were no more moons left, no more hope. Nothing more would rise in the sky, night or day. The stones stood and watched but they refused their help. The magic that lay beneath them slept. And it would sleep now forever. The sleepers would never waken, though this was surely the end, and they were the only ones who could avert it. So said the stories.

The fox watched the setting sun and called the vixen. Together they walked through the gateway between the stones and left the earth to its dying.