oak • mistletoe
me • you
all • dream
ever • more
into • wood
we • go
Category: poetry
hear gates
Photo by Brett Wharton on Unsplash seeking a stop making sense
to snail ride a razor’s edge
staccato clipped my words trip
under themselves again
these old ones do not care
for your piety, no
they want to embrace storm
clacking bones trice
can you hear gates?shedding
Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash we glide fields
wend the trees
crest the tor and
stretch wide mouths
to sing
this unpeopling
of ourselves celebrates
forest fires burning
inside our chests,
shriven
without names
these nature gods
shove hours aside
giving all to
heartwood
shed the wire
marking barbed against
soft flesh
and fly…october is
Photo by Alberto Arroyo on Unsplash as we draw speechless
under growing hallows
full moon and mistletoe
summer gives to autumn
ol' john, he sentinels
green still in the barley
hiding us our shadow
away until the dawn
darning fingers cast weaves
for october is our song...warden
Photo by Ovidiu Cozma on Unsplash circling threes from trees
birch white paper of black
calling out his name
from the wending ways
a warden in the weald
we are flight we are free
bending skies to our own
shaking wood, twisting stone
to lay alone of earthwomb
wrapped in fevers
a fragment found.
a key —
head tilt and a shout,
a return to north windsdogs
Photo by Massimiliano Sarno on Unsplash her face in the mirror
all mine not mine and
there is rust washing
to be done on old chains
in the barren playlot
she the me locking unlocking
six-paneled doors wood
of ghetto apartments
a gulag of memories jailed
rape is not right
not a right
but we, me and she
promise the no cry no more
come knocking,
come knocking
down the corridor
and i hold she as me
in our striped stained bed
crying hush to those
howling dogs of warwaiting spears
Photo by Harald Pliessnig on Unsplash some times we chat all
others, silent stand tall
let gossip the pines
in trade on winds
bring on day
carry our night
bones given rain
featherfall out of sight
we gaze for winter
waiting spears...carving night
every at thin
scrim width pale
carving night
into shadow
and moonlight
each wingbeat
of heart
rattlebone clacks
stone rumble taps
fingers at posts
point candled
for windowed
callerstorrestorm
exwearsted longday
at twinight tween
fingerpast pointning of
torrestorm electricness
glowning thrumbled
ribbeling over
direly roartoss
there are no words
only silent slipping
between shadowed sheets
veil cast upon veil
and falling, falling
to the killing floor
pointing bones
scrawled words scrim
i toss the words to flame
