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
Category: poetry
seek no
stormy passings wet
Photo by Kevin Hessey on Unsplash 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 wememories and souvenirs
Photo by Dylan Whoriskey on Unsplash 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 allhalcyon days
Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash 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 begintossing a rune — 22jun25
berkana through the pass
we may yet recall
all of those parts of us
long since forgottenAnother 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.
hold
Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash 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, holdwaiting to come
Photo by enkuu smile_ on Unsplash 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 springvenus in firs
Photo by Sina Bakhtiari on Unsplash gather us now
at fingerposts &
streetlamps in the fir
bone crunching the
frostcrust snow
under our woolen
scarlet, some
edges cut thin
"how do you do?"
"i am well, and you?"
"fine, i couldn't
be better."
"it's cold, we should
have a bit of tea."
— and so forth
and so on as the
sleigh bells silver
their ever closer in
a pale empress coming
could you not
see all is well as
might have been?pict-too
Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash a slendering into irrelevance
pict-too pict-too painted blue
—and now the unwanting
to crawl down to bed in seek
to find a dream in shiftspace
between the you and the me
that clackbone cracking
after the summer, corewood
once living, now dead
kiss me before the afterglow fades
pict-too pict-too all painted blue
to slip to my slendering againeyes play
Photo by Nikolay Hristov on Unsplash growing at distance
eyes play watchmen
observing in steel as
a hand strokes in time
with the machine
