The swan

I saw the swan again this morning. I assume it’s the same one, a lone swan. Such a sad sight. This is the first of a series I wrote, same images, reworked.

The swan

This morning the frost
bit with furry teeth,
bright as northern oceans
where the pack ice breaks
and glitters in the sun.

This morning in the ice-cold,
In the silence of bare trees,
I raised my eyes to the golden sky
and saw, white wings against the blue,
a swan fly into the light.

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Haiku challenge: Slip & Tip

For Ronovan’s haiku challenge.

 

spring gold against

winter lead the balance tips

first swans glide nesting

White wings

This cinquain is for the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing challenge. The words, which are very apposite for me this week, are

CALM | ROUGH | STORM | EASE | MUTE

Photo©NolascoDiaz

 

Storm winds

ease as rough seas

calm, and stars quicken in

night sky’s arms. Peace beats with white wings—

Mute Swan.

 

 

A Month with Yeats: Day Ten

A third of the way through, today’s quote is from ‘The Host of the Air.’

‘And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,’  W.B. Yeats.

In the rushes by the bank, she glides,

The swan on the empty lake,

From the gold-tipped points of morning

To the dusk where shadows break,

And she lays her long neck sadly

In the hollow of her wings,

For the tide brings only night time

And the dark, when no bird sings.

Starpath

A quadrille—44 words.

Starpath leads us on,

star to wish upon,

falling through the night,

bathed in spangle light,

where cold worlds spin and die,

we float there you and I,

for earth’s already gone

into darkness, as the swan,

on white wings,

sings

the last song.

Desire of darkness

Photo ©Fototasche

 

Desire of darkness,

grows with the

fluttering shadows,

and the scent of jasmine.

It rises with

the throb of swans’ wings,

and the rapture of falling

through the clouds

into the heavens.

Swan God

Photo ©Alan Walker

No dead god for me,

No redemption in spilled blood,

For sins that were not mine, nor anyone’s,

Being his own invention,

A tortured circular argument,

That ends always in shame and death.

The green and growing,

The golden sun,

The eternal love sworn by a pair of swans,

This is what I revere.

No judgement here,

No flagellation and tearing of hair,

Just love,

Pure, simple and more beautiful by far,

Than your bare and bloody hill,

Crowned with dead trees

And ringed about with thorns.

Tie my heart with silver strings

Four short poems for Valentine’s Day.

Tie my heart with silver strings,

Take these wings and learn to fly,

Sail my heart where white wings dip,

Into the gold of tomorrow.

 

Desire grows with the dark,

Unfolds its trembling wings,

Spreads sweet shadows across the room,

Fills the night with the silken touch,

Of sleek, coal black swan feathers.

 

Did I say feathers or soft rose petals?

Did I want moonlight or starlight or sun?

Did I yearn for a rainbow or red clouds at sunset?

Whose lips taste mine when the long day is done?

 

In the dark love,

Or by pale moonlight,

Beneath the roses love,

On a starry night.

In the air we breathe love,

Where the green sea sighs,

On the tip of my tongue love,

In the depths of your eyes.

She waits for him to choose

Picture ©Phototasche

To fall, let go,
To fold my wings and plummet,
To embrace the earth that rushes up,
To snatch life’s last spark and end it all.
Or follow the stars and fly,
Spread broad white wings,
Soft swansdown pinioned beauty,
Beat the air translucent blue,
Shot with gold in the morning sun,
To soar with hope and a raging joy.
Choose wisely, love, for you hold my heart
In your hesitant hands.

Étain

She looked into the well water, smooth as a mirror, and a golden-haired man looked back at her. In his eyes were lost memories of fluttering butterfly wings, black waves, and horses running across a green plain. She remembered then the man she loved, and not all the seas, the curses and the desire of kings could keep them apart. She opened her arms to Midir’s embrace and let swan wings bear her home.