Winter Sunrise

Winter sunrise

 .

Walking through the

Forest; dark verdure,

Gnarled fingers working

Phthalo clay.

 .

I exhale, admiring the

Pearl-shrouded purity,

That frozen moment before

An in-drawn breath.

 .

High above me

A hawk rides the sunlight,

Splayed tail ablaze;

Luminous amber, rust-red.

.

I soar upward, yet sink inward…

 .

Back on earth, now,

I continue along my path

With a renewed appreciation

Of the unfathomable.

.

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when it rains

when it rains.

it wakes inside me;

a buried past reborn.

up through grass and garden: bubbles

water drops on branches, doubled

in the dampness, last year’s leaves decay.

loamy presence hugs my being;

pheromones, so revealing

when it rains.

I feel myself dissolving,

in the rain, I hear you calling,

when it rains

.

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Book Spine Poetry

I visited a blog yesterday and was introduced to book spine poetry. I found some more at Brain Pickings, a contest (that is, sadly, completed), and many other references to spine poetry.

The idea is to choose books carefully so that, when laid on their sides and stacked, their titles become the lines of a poem

I’d never heard of it before, but decided to try my hand at it:

.

 

As I Lay dying

the speed of dark

The Sense of an Ending

Altered Carbon

Being Nobody, Going Nowhere

We

The Dispossessed

.

.

.

 

 

Dappled Moonlight

.

.

Dappled moonlight;

I daren’t breathe…

The water calm, murmuring

She rolls her shoulders:

Luminous sprites dance;

An undulous shawl,

A furtive message;

Whispers, the shore

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Afterward

Afterward

.

…the sun disappears behind the mountains,

But a fiery glow lights Dragon’s crown.

Its long, plated body bathes by the far shore,

Its tail undulates in lazy waves.

.

Trees stretch to pierce the darkening clay

Where diminutive, pale blossoms open.

.

She tosses hair with a flick of her head:

The ethereal mane dances in the breeze.

Hewn and stained breastplate; battered shield:

Meaningless now.

She hurls the shield into the water. The armour follows.

And then her sword whirs through the dusk.

No splash perceived.

.

She caresses waning auguries,

Unfolds memories

And ferments the gravid loam

Of tomorrow.

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.

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The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

.

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.

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William Carlos Williams

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Ezra Pound

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

		Ezra Pound

 

For Bailey

“Somebody hold me back or I’ll write a poem right now!”

Binky Barnes, from the Arthur the Aardvark cartoon (Binky did write a poem: you can view it at the link)