settle to stone and
quit with the roam
seek no, seek no more
to take axe to axel
to stop up the ramble
seek no, seek no more
follow low water
flow dark home
seek no, seek no more
of crash the rainbows in
the undergrey at raining
with the undone angry
sitting thresholds linger
stormy passings wet
my granite sharp face
—in need of a shave might
the added phrase be—
yet, soon comes our clover
the clover carves thunder
in the laying down we
A fever of climbing, each foot thorned on ossified remains of the other selves of his, those forgotten parts laying wasteshattered on this hill of broken dreams.
Cut hands, his own slivered bones shredding flesh to ribbons as he crawls his pile of human debris. Sunlight at the center, high above, mocking. It is not obtainable, but he has his own Sisyphus path, and that path involves the play of light and shadow with his burden being self — something far more weighty than stone.
A blink away of bloodstained sweat, he looks away from the improbissble past placed there in the fore. There is no sense in entertaining goals. Goals imply a chance at success. Success brings hope. Hope? No.
Right arm right foot left arm left foot, shudderdream quakes and shakes, and involuntary scream. But still, he carries his leadself up, an empty skull of his staring from the hill. All the whispers shout encouragements, but he cannot remain still to gather them in.
winnowed of wind
we shed our chaff
over long seas to carry
our selves to elsewhen
even midnights fade
when woven of windsong
where our souls
do dare go at wilds
take a souvenir if
that you must to recall
but, as such, memories
are nothing at all
those halcyon days
we slipped beneath
wrapped in wave
and calm, in the before of
those days we summered
tangled in locust drone
in high elms lagging
speaking softly in
summer fade with
our ghostselves in haze
waiting for to begin
through the pass
we may yet recall
all of those parts of us
long since forgotten
Another rune poem of mine, where the rune is selected at random.
Today’s rune is berkana, which has a core meaning “birch”. Birch are often the first trees to populate areas after a forest fire and, by extension, are associated with new beginnings, purification and rebirth — all of which tend to be related to the eternal feminine.
come the drift as
voices fade away
the taste of ash
'cross my tongue
distrust, the taste
of dream
bone hands stolen
of twilight childe
hold onto me, hold
i am held apart and
the words said
are not for who
am i say i may be
rejoined if held together
in arms tenderly and
whispers the wind
my name am be
still crushed flower
under the snow
waiting to come of spring
