Dawn breaking

For the dverse open link.

Days spin
in and out of sight;
night falls,
stalls and starts again.

When will the dawn break,
take us out of the dark,
bark with the first deer,
hear the first bird,
word-woven and pink-gold,
folded samite, spread?

Dread of the unknown and unseen,
green-clouded ocean skies,
dies in the sun-touched morning’s early
pearly haze.

Advertisement

Waiting for an answer

The image is borrowed from Kerfe again.

What is it in the wind that blows,
flows with the indigo waves of night,
light of a moon half-hid by cloud,

loud as the stream as it leaps in its bed,
red as the rage of a cornered boar,
roaring defiance to hunter and hound?

Bound with the deer over river and rock,
brock wending his way between path and hedge,
sedge on the lake that bends with the breeze;

trees know the answer to every asking,
basking in sun or stark in the cold,
old as the hills and wise as the glen.

When will the poplars whisper the secret,
Egrets’ white wings give the truth away?
Stay ‘neath the boughs and you’ll hear, like as not.

Storm comes

A serpent’s tail quadrille for dverse.

 

Storm comes

drums on the roof

reproof —did we expect soft summer rain?

Trains pass distant rumble

tumble of hail

wail of the horn

borne on wind roaring

soaring kites sail past

last light drowning, cloud

shrouds waking the night—

light of star swarm.

Year grown old

Cold sweeps,

weeps tears of frost,

lost among the grass.

 

In the dark, stars spoke,

broke their silent dance,

enhancing the night.

 

From pods, white furred,

bird shakes the seeds,

feeds fire-spark quick.

 

Thick mists curl,

furling, swirling, pearl bright

light of a year grown old.

Broken hearts

The suggestion for the OctPoWriMo prompt is a loop poem. This is a variant. I call it Serpent’s Tail.

There is no compassion,

passion for death replaces it,

fit only for townfolk.

Poke fun at their sentimentality,

reality is power,

cowering wildlife at your whim,

slim chance of escape all they get.

Yet you call yourself a guardian, arbitrator;

terminator’s not how you see your task,

ask any huntsman anywhere.

 

 

Where did it go?

For the OctPoWriMo prompt—time. A serpent’s tail poem.

 

Where did it go, the time,

crime-wasted,

tasted too often the same things.

Springs sprang and ran away,

days died with the sun.

Done the nights of bright and gaudy,

tawdry pleasure,

measure now the loss,

dross we gathered, saved,

slaved, craving  eternity,

we found only midnight’s neon glare.

Sunset

 

Bees’ drone has faded

jaded dreams have fled

bled into the clouds

shrouds of grey.

Day fades into night

light changes to dark

lark song stilled

spilled into the bloody earth

worth more than rubies.

#writephoto: Solstice

A serpent’s tail poem in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt. I might get a story out of it too.

By the light of the rising sun,

dun trees dance naked beneath

leafless sky. Boughs bend,

(fends stone, this icy air),

their spindle limbs leaping,

seeping sap-blood chilled,

spilled upon the frosty grass.

Glass-green and brittle, the light,

night shadows chased away,

daybreaks, and boreal winds among the dancers sway.

Stay here awhile, watch sol invictus soar high,

sky-igniting, and feathered firebirds fly.

Clouds

I wrote this serpent’s tail poem last night because a prompt (Daily Inkling) was niggling me. This morning I read Kerfe’s poem prompted by her Saturday consultation with the Oracle, and I can see more threads in the weave than one.

 

There used to be sky above my head,

red at sunset, or broad with bright

flights of swallows, darting to fill the blue.

Stew I see now, soup where clouds float,

bloated grey scum. How did it go

so far, the light, the blue colour hid,

slid into night, or sucked into the dark places

spaces behind the moon? No dragons with fiery breath,

death in their gaze sail lazily,

crazily by, nor sheep, sleep-bearing and soft.

Aloft, all is washed away,

day, sun, hope of rain;

pain falls pitter-patter, a steel pulse throbbing—

bobbing on the distant ocean, your ship

slips into silence. You left to find yourself, you said

spread your nets—still lost, you cry,

I wish you

knew where.

This cold brings tears

For the dverse open link night, a serpent’s tail poem, a particular form of chain rhyme.

 

This cold brings tears,

sears frozen cheeks,

speaks with a voice of steel.

Peeling the bark from trees,

freezing ice splinters,

winter’s path wends, shadow-walking,

talking in tongues of ice,

splicing streamers of mist and rain

again and again, festooning,

crooning crone songs low.

Slow dawn comes at last,

blasts of northwind bringing,

singing of more snow to come,

some day though, spring’s kiss.