Tuesday, May 17, 2022

In The Still

 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 In The Still
 
 

In the still
of the silenced
so deep, I can hear
the gestation of dew, 
the guard-bird's desperate heart
at her nest, the moth's sibilant fumbling
where she lays her last egg;
 
yet not the padding
soft-footed sleep
that carries us empty
into tomorrow.



May 2022





 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for earthweal's Lessons from the Wild
hosted by Sherry Marr 
 
 
 

and dVerse Poets'
by sarahsouthwest
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Night Hill, © Andrea Kowch All Rights Reserved to the Artist   Fair Use
Remember, © Zdzisław Beksiński        Fair Use
 
 

13 comments:

  1. "The gestation of dew" - the amazement of this phrase stopped me, in awe. Then the guard-bird's desperate heart (mine, too!), and our soft-footed sleep.....this is absolutely breathtaking poetry, Joy. Thank you so much for writing to my prompt. We keep trying, even as we are documenting our own despair, clinging to what hope we can.

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  2. this is lovely...lots of dark and nostalgic images.

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  3. Oh, I love the way sleep becomes another creature here - something almost predatory, I felt. Your wild imagery is lovely.

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  4. It's funny how that happens, isn't it. A true blessing how we are allowed to drift in...

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  5. still, silent, empty...a deep sleep indeed

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  6. This is so soothing to read, Hedgewitch - hypnotic!

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  7. This is why I love rising at 4 AM - that absolute, lush silence of darkness at that hour -- but I know we are boats passing in opposite directions,. Insomnia is strange hymnody, dark worship, afflicted praise. Lulling a battered pilgrim's progress. But if this grace is won by that, then halleloo.

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  8. Heavens, this is haunting and beautiful. This line is just a fabulous bump of words:
    "the gestation of dew"

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  9. I love the different sounds of silence you describe... you make insomnia desirable, and for us here in the cold north those moments are so brief in summer before the busy birds starts to make noise.

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  10. Your ending is so powerful and rings true for me. To hear the birds and yet be so unaware of the changes in our climate.
    "yet not the padding
    soft-footed sleep
    that carries us empty
    into tomorrow."
    Beautifully worded.

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  11. Such an unuttered sense of haunting in this. I love "the moth's sibilant fumbling," laying her last egg - such an unexpected image! Wonderful, Joy :-)

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  12. how you illuminate that 'still' with such precision, using such vivid and thoughtful yet succinctly phrased imagery, bringing us into that empty tomorrow.

    my own sleep has been interrupted of late by some internal clock, at 1:30 am, then again at 3:30 or 4. a new gong, as it were, sounding in the hollow before the morrow. ~

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, M. I have given up on the idea of sleeping through the night. I can't even really remember the last time I did so. I sleep like a monkey in a tree who has to wake up ever few hours so she doesn't fall out. ;-) Thanks as always for stopping by and leaving your thoughts, friend.

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"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats