two colour eyes true
after summer and ash
held hands in floodlands
and twin river above
there, redwing lingers
dancing cattails
and dragonflies
smelling of wet leaves
before the frost
here, we rain
Tag: poetry
here, we rain
with night
Photo by Amirhossein Kianbakht on Pexels.com lips curve the crest of breast
jasper ocean eyes to drown
carving thigh lace with night
wordless of the wind sigh
for fingertipped dew glides
riding of the moon with nightoh dear, i’m late
Photo by Anthony DeRosa on Pexels.com tick tock
with cogs and clock
with arms a'
spinning and whirling
don't lose your head
or you'll wind up dead
with fingers gone
stiff and curlingask
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com asking the wrong questions
if only we could
take them back
and ask the answers
instead
blind to deaf
my mute mouth moves
in time to raindrops
on summer's hot
metal roof
waiting to forget
all that i sought
to knownightmare fuel
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash grundylocks and grimley
gone running through the green
chasing after unicorns in
the backyard of childhood dreams
waving with their hacksaws
and their axes and their gonnes
grind a horn to tincture, say they
to drink to gruesome songspop
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash gather bones
gather leaves
gather poppets
gather strings
pop cracks stone
dancing fire
dancing sparks
dancing poppets
dancing leavespuppets all
Photo by Tengis Galamez on Unsplash puppets all, we dance to
another jag-time waltz
thinking we set the rhythm
by the fumble of feet
we ain’t no hep cats
jazzing our bluejeans
the strings tangle to bind
as we stumble that last
drunken mile homerattle the bones
Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash everything too suchness
fan rattle to flame seething
and shudder limbs shake
ragged wrap in arms
of rags and wraith
chasing all elder ways
knock the stone fell
rattle the bones
shake in clenched silence
rattle all those bonesthistle & woad
Photo by Mandy Bourke on Unsplash with a head full of thistle &
hands stained of woad
skating away over water to
while away a spell
with the acorn man
you probably
would not understand
that has become a given
over these near
twin scored years
and so it comes to
wander this wodewood alone
chatting with oaks
in the blackthorn
with a head full of thistle &
hands stained of woad
