fickle,
faded fellows,
fresh from Flitwick, trickle
into the film and flatten rows
of toes
Tag Archives: formal poetry
Empty Vessels
I still can see small golden lights ablaze
within a glossy, yellow coffee tin
near bonny faces from those olden days.
They left sweet scars beneath my withered skin.
Their voices ring inside the attic’s din.
But tender hearts were silenced long ago;
why they departed, I shall never know.
****
edited after initial posting
Cinquain/LXXII
wizards
cloaked in ermine
course calmly through blizzards,
casting enchanted spells within
the din
Over the Bridge
From dense woodland to broad steppes, we trekked
with babes on our backs and hope at
our heels, seeking solace in
an age of profound change,
when we bid farewell
to distant kin
and forged a
friendless
path.
Racing the Darkness
The hour of eight is almost nigh
and as I gaze up at the sky
the sun is sinking in the west,
to make space for our nightly guest.
But, when I set out for this day,
I brought no torch to light my way,
and so I journey with great haste,
for surely there’s no time to waste,
as feet march over mountainside
to reach green meadow, flat and wide.
:::country party:::
Clear off the cobwebs!
Clear off the mold!
Do it right quick,
just as you’re told!
The guests have arrived!
The guests are all here!
Now, let’s greet them warmly,
with wine and good cheer!
Image Credit: Philip Gerrard
http://www.originalpaintings.com/philip_gerrard.htm
The Vulture
And to the north I saw a star
which did not seem so very far
from where those lonely columns rose;
I felt its heat upon my nose,
and heard a willful, warbling call
emerge from heaven’s endless wall.
Through some strange force I can’t explain
that flaming bird threw down a chain
and pulled me up to raven sky,
now here I sit, away up high,
ensconced in Lyra’s brightest light
on this obscure and biting night.
Mother Can Remember This
No one but mother can remember this.
No one except she, but she now is dead,
can testify about the light we miss.
A loveless breeze embraces my bent head
as lilies clad in wintertide touch stone.
These words were ripped from my chest to be read.
No one should journey through this world alone
or tether themselves to a bloodless form,
but feet almost collapse beneath old bone.
Yet, there is hope to find within the storm,
And surely we shall rise from the abyss
to go where hapless humans can transform.
That splendid dwelling where we cornered bliss
No one but mother can remember this.
make like the morning
make like the morning
and fly to the west,
till your fine wide wings
detect their own nest
sundry folly 