Starlorn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Starlorn

(a 55)

 

 

 

The black dog runs

on the wind that

reaps the world.

 

He bites starlorn

at the moon who knows

his teeth will find marrow.

 

Behind him comes

the scythe that cuts tomorrow

down to bone.

 

Moon must learn to bleed,

monkeys to eat snow,

man to live on tears

where the black dog runs.

 

December 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

posted for Dverse Poets

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Moonrise, 1884, © Stanislaw Maslowski   Public Domain

Wolf-Dog, manipulated, 1976 © Jamie Wyeth  Public Domain

Friday Flash 55 for May 2020

Welcome all to this month's edition of the Friday 55. 

 The rules are unchanged; write a poem, piece of prose poetry or flash fiction on any subject, in exactly 55 words, no more, no less. Paste your link in the comments section, and I will be by to read what you have come up with.

The prompt will be live

from Thursday at midnight to Sunday at 4 PM.

~*~

Here's my 55:

Black Dog


The moon stopped talking

when you came

walking through catastrophes,

black dog that wouldn't mind

at your heel.

You couldn't stay;

I never stayed myself.

They thought they knew our best

but best's a savor
saved

for shot-silk touch

the war of wills

the game without rules;

reserved 

for those who meet breathing

and leave singing.

May 2020

Images: The Dog, 1819,  © Francisco Goya    Public Domain

Self portrait with a Black Dog, 1841,  © Gustave Corbet (manipulated) Public Domain