Screech owl cries

A Rhyme Royal for the dverse prompt this evening. Prompted by the sound of hunting owls, so loud at nightfall here.

Image ©Art Siegel

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The first stars wake in autumn evening’s sky,

The sun has set long since, and hushed the air,

Beneath the earth, the night-touched creatures lie,

And wait for dark to leave their hidden lair.

The weeping in the house, too hard to bear,

I listen, ’neath the stars as darkness spreads,

And shiver at owl’s cry, what each heart dreads.

 

The moving finger stops above the roof,

Feathered portent perches high and screams.

We quail, as if we needed no more proof,

Our worst fears come to roost above the beams,

Death walks among the shadows, so it seems.

But in the east, moonrise casts golden light,

A smile, a sigh, death will not come tonight.

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Owl time

celticowl-2

Tiptoeing in and out of the dark,

I, sometimes a lark

sometimes the bark

of a red rabid dog,

with fog in my eyes,

mud to the thighs,

wade through the night.

Silent the flight

of the wandering owl,

howling the wolf on the hill,

and the dawn seems so far away.

Will ever bright day

return with the light,

or will endless night

rise with a dark sun?

In the dark, an owl

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In the dark, an owl,

its gentle cry,

uloo, uloo

a lullaby,

rocks my dreams

in the cradle of the night.

The softest touch,

silent feathers brush

sleeping rooftops,

cat-walked, dainty and sly,

and still rolls the cry,

uloo, uloo,

not for me,

perhaps for you.

The night grows cold,

the stars too brittle and bright,

and somewhere close

the gentle, yearning call,

the fluting, woodwind cry,

the softest fluttered feathers

carry a last breath

into the lullaby-rocking night.

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.

Falling starlight

A quatern I spent yesterday evening writing. Another poetry form using a refrain. I altered the last refrain slightly because it sounds better.

 

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Falling starlight breaks and lies,

Upon the roses glowing violet,

Vermilion cloud, a night owl’s cries,

Captured rays of faded sunset.

 

Though in the dark sky moonlight floods,

Falling starlight breaks and lies,

In pools of silver on the woods,

Where the silent night owl flies.

 

Pale wings beating skim the skies,

The scent of roses, where you passed,

Falling starlight breaks and lies.

On bitter lips, a kiss, your last.

 

The fox slips silent, still the hare,

The night is listening to your lies,

The owl cries in the garden where,

Falling starlight breaks and dies.