Stormcrow

Stormcrow

Stormcrow

catch me if you can.

Circle and dive as I collapse
in a brick arpeggio,

shattering harpsichord ice bells.

Blow the thaw jazzed as a discord 

down from the burning brass horn

of your craw.
Set your ebonyblue wings acrawl, wind

moonpock shadows on my shoulders, 
your gaze a crackling smoke
of black wildflowers

flamed in the wickered willow

of your yellow eye.

Stormcrow

weep me out another winter

after the fall. I've been waiting,
rebuilding my broken bone box
here in your cold penumbra, 
seen how you 
cock your too cunning head,

pretend to pace on crooked toes, seen

how you love hovering high
showing one crescent feather of

a starbead-bright galaxy, hiding the
brush of full dark; still

I know tomorrow you'll catch me

if you can, my stormcrow

if you can.

~January 2013

If you'd like to hear this poem read by the author, please click below:

stormcrow by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Image: Wheatfield with Crows, Vincent Van Gogh, 1890
Public domain, via wikipaintings.org

Herpetology

Herpetology

I drew you in a dream

little lizard, whiptail,

slickfoot, drew you laboring

last night in the moonmelt,

or were you drawing me?

I looked away from

your slipping green tongue

to read a brokeback page or two

in the hymnal of change,

to mark an angle, sip

a shot of Job's comfort--

and so quick

so quick you put on

your dragon face, stood your

spikes of emerald scales

up like piano keys, made

zeppelin steampuffs for breath,

each thought a fat fly

from your eye to mine; then

you brought your friends 

to climb my spine,

turn the screw, dance a reel,

slither a toast;

I know I drew a ghost

and not eight dragons,

so perhaps it's you

who's painted me 
so sudden 
and so small.

~January 2013

posted for   real toads

Sunday Mini-Challenge: Ekphrasis

Kerry has picked the inimitable Dutch graphic artist M.C. Escher for us to work from, to try to 'speak out' in words one of his works. This is a rather well-known one I've always liked, called Reptiles

Image: Reptiles, Colour, 1943, by M.C. Escher
via wikipaintings.org
All copyright belongs to the copyright holders.

Winter Talk

Winter Talk

Under my palms

the forsaken garden

moves with the clamor of  bulbs.

Their secret gossip-mumbles

murmur through the muffling

of their port red cage.

Tangling white wild hair,

they dance handfast  

deep in a strong gypsy curl,

pushing green fingers up the

yeasty dough 
of broken-down things,

listening

for Time's peelback

of the onion earth.

~January 2013 

 55 potential grape hyacinths for   the g-man

Process notes: the word Port in the poem refers to Port Silt Loam, the official state soil of Oklahoma. Bet you didn't know our politicians had named special official state soils for us, along with state birds, songs, wildflowers, etc. But apparently they have lots of time for that. Still, it's a very common soil type in Oklahoma, and is named not after port wine as you might think, but after the small town of Port in Washita County. Those caring to continue their horticultural education can view a soil section of same below, courtesy of wikipedia:

Header image (c) joyannjones, 2013  

Crossroads

Crossroads

Crossroads 

splay out

 the holy Way,

under the 

pale aureole

that scarves 

the moon,

across the 

endless breast where every twin must meet or pass with one cold kiss

 to that bitten, black on white incision preceding the unspooling decision.

 The lunatic moon's a dangerous perfectionist in her every golden fraying,

softly flaking, tearing silvery pages from the weeks of her waning diary,

swelling toward a spring remembered on the other side of a dead nerve.

 Choose quick

in the breath 

you center

where change  

and addiction

cross, seeing

 bright 

the killer's 

hilted sword, 

the crusader's

red-stained 

oriflamme, 

on a white as

innocent of

the deceits of

 opposites as a

 straight-edge 

looking for 

geometry in  

 the razor-sharp 

fractals of chaos.

Choose, and know on your back

you wear the wind that never blinks.

~January 2013

posted for   real toads

Challenge: Get Listed!

Fireblossom produces a mysterious anonymous word list from her secret sources, and asks us to write to its promptings. I don't often do this, but had a difficult bear of a poem that seemed to need some surgical insertions, so gave it a fling. Many thanks to FB and her always creative source, who shall be nameless. You can find the word list at the link above.

Header Image: Finale(Sonata of the Sun) by Mikalojus Ciurlionis, 1907
Public Domain via wikipaintings.org
Footer Image: Crusade, by Albrecht Altdorfer
Public Domain, also via wikipaintings.org