Category: writing

  • all bone at song

    Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash
    i shadow as maiden
    i shadow as lake
    stone waters under
    of granite my eye

    pock and pit
    chip and ash
    fleck and form
    all bone at song

    i blood as my earthing
    i blood as my weir
    catch acorn when thorn 
    at river we heart

  • Campfire sessions — 02may25

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    A fog had descended on camp. It happens at times and, when it does, the fog reflects the flames in such a way that the immediate surroundings appear aglow but the campfire is quickly swallowed by the thick fog standing a few dozen yards away. I did not expect anyone to find me tonight as a result of being well within the betweens. So I warmed my hands and contemplated the thorns still visible on one side of the clearing: daggered things that would have screamed of a sepsis incurred within hours of being pricked by their sharp tips.

    The weald likes to keep its secrets. I may be the nominal warden of this place, but that does not mean that I know anything more than I need to about the darker spaces within. Of course, if there were need of the blackthorn’s protection, I would find I could slip within the hedge’s folds like a chickadee or wren. The weald protects its own as much as it wards.

    That is when a familiar and small voice spoke in my left ear.

    Hey, they said. Thought you could stand some company.

    (more…)

  • nightwash

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    underwater flowing
    over silt and stone
    rub skin, stream wash
    rub mud, you and me
    make land, this flesh
    make river, this blood
    rub wash, stream skin
    rub silt, me and you

    can't you hear them crying?
    can't you hear their scream?
    flesh and blood and silt and stream
    spirits in the night—

    originally posted 23jan2021

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim.

  • stride

    Photo by HARALD PLIESSNIG on Unsplash
    mistwalking the waters
    she strode, one foot before the next
    both eyes set forward
    across that mystic lake
    that raven-haired nyneve with
    her dress flowing back
    flesh pale even against the fog

    originally published 06aug2021, w/minor edits

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim.

  • our lady of phantoms

    Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash
    were the feral to cast
    chalked white doors
    handprints, handprints
    powder pale worn
    singing us under
    singing us home
    our lady of phantoms
    with one last kiss
    before dawn

    originally posted 13nov2023; the title is the only modified part of the text

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim. This poem was originally inspired by the card Mounds of the Tuath from the Oracle of the Morrigan deck.

  • epiphany

    tok tok tok --
    raven tapping on the
    fog filled street

    originally published 22aug2020

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim. This haiku is a non-traditional haiku written in the style of Jon Muth, author and illustator of the a series of children books about Stillwater and Ku, Zen pandas.

  • an autumn stream

    Photo by Ronin on Unsplash
    the trails, ever twisting
    sometimes, even, to
    turn upon themselves
    — there are times we need to
    be reminded of old scenery
    it seems…

    soon, the autumn stream
    tumbling over rock & branch
    is on offer, familiar
    singing to me as i flow
    myself with it upstream

  • remains

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    my broken fingers
    flint at cold fires
    wet with rust & remains

    rattle old the fractured stones
    clacking 'round this
    hollow & shattered head

    a sleep of ashes
    ashes & rust & rain
    this cast off dross &
    rusted remains

  • dark angel

    Photo by Dana on Unsplash
    i wonder than none can see
    her arms draped over me with
    a wink, a smile, a murder of crows
    i gave myself over lifetimes ago
    to that dark angel at my side

    you may seek,
    but you will not find

  • one of a few — 29apr25

    beithe
    paper bark and
    fine hair flutters
    on the pale winds
    chasing ripples
    over a secret lake

    For a change of pace, I decided to revisit ogam/ogham for a poetry prompt tool. As with the Elder Futhark runes, I randomly select one of the ogam fid as a prompt for a bit of micropoetry.

    Because I have a poorly-developed sense of humor, the title of this post refers to a variant of the word, fid, “few”. While still in common usage, “few” is not technically accurate to describe the letter — but I like my wordplay.

    Beithe (in Old Irish, beith in modern Irish) means “birch”. The fid has a number of cryptic meanings depending on the kenning or its inclusions in the medieval word lists of the filli, including: white, pheasant, livelihood, “withered foot with fine hair”, and “beauty of the eyebrow”, amongst many, many others.

    I do not embrace Robert Graves’ mystical meanings as I feel they are not based in scholarship and that they disagree with people who have made a lifetime study of the ogam. While there is evidence of possible filli-coding within the letters (per the lists poets were made to memorize), there is little evidence that magical meaning was the intent and the association with magic appears to be a modern invention… But that is another post.

    Perhaps I’ll eventually bring fid back and finish my in-depth exploration of their meanings.