hands stained in alder
scarlet against the driven snow
this blood runs to stone
scattered over the path of fells
heather rimed in white
her sun rimed in snow
below and now she rises
blood on fell and stone
Category: poetry
fell and stone
Photo by Sina Bakhtiari on Unsplash lakesong
Photo by Ariana Kaminski on Unsplash hush the reeds canoeing under
loon her haunting waves over
dragonfly blue on knee on oar
kodak cubeflash sun at branches
song mine of thunder rolling
cuts flint grey brilliant skies
redwing cattail watching
follows eyes paintedacorn man
Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash sun and shadow
dancing the bones
between the tonights
laid over growing
groundcover dark
within the wode
acorn man mad they
call his wanders
under oak over stone
pond water mirrors
his autumn ways
hey hey they call of above
do not walk yourself lost
black laughter rising
he laughs along
wanderwalking the wode
acorn man disguisedinner
Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash we crawled into
innerworld
on our hands &
knees
you kissed me
otherside &
promised me all
night
sage was a'drifting
stones were shifting &
flames burned to
embersoutsider
i am the outsider drifting
slipstream shifting
through & through
a directionless beggar
desert rags wrapped
red around wrists &
broken at my mouth
open fractured to speak
i croak & rasping
thirsty for the dawngames
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash always unknowing & unreadable
her eyes play from the shadows
teasing & taunting
forgive me, i am so tired
of these gamesred dirt
Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash sitting the red dirt
casting needle bone raw
hey fox, ho owl
what tales do winds tell?
given to ghost on promise
tied leather, wrapped lace
turning on bright flame
if the memory serves you
well
sitting the red dirt
between pine and swell
hey owl, ho fox with
promises winds tellunexpected outcomes
Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash mad hare, what drove you
to dodge the night fallen snow
from here to there and back again
all dizzy in your frenzy?
it seems you lost your head
the large crow said, as he
cleaned up the mess of you
left out in the yard behindkilling jar
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash shake, twist the flame
dancing on the edge
give shout and no one
seems to hear
becoming flutter
all wraith and dream
with a voice gone mute
and eyes, no longer see
a history on display
inside for the killing jarburning books
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash these witching hour dreams
what are they supposed to
mean?
that chapter has long been
burned at the stake i cannot
will it into being
leave now, o ghost
so perhaps we can dream
another life
where our books no long burn
