uncounted
uncountable wheeling mass
of black birds
so much more
than a murder
more a massacre, really
a huge dark wheel
spinning over the axis
of a bare tree
fortuna, imperatrix mundi
she rises
she falls
her spokes
these black messengers
against a grey sky
Tag: poetry
Poem 20160118b
the fresh-turned earth smell
rosemary, sun, and water
–a new pot, new style
RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge 80, Style & Fresh
Poem 20160118
i looked back
at a year’s worth of words
and found
my words had all
been used up
i didn’t know i had
a quota
but there they were
every last one
written out
trying to call up more
felt like coughing up dust
like trying to cast a shadow
in a darkened room
or playing tag with ghosts
luckily
the wind punched
a heart-shaped hole
in the clouds
and i was momentarily
saved
Poem 20160117b
don’t spend your money
this sunset muted by clouds
–worth little, worth all
Poem 20160117
sacked out
at my feet
the dog looks tired
tongue hanging out
where he is missing teeth
on the walk
he seemed lively
and we took a route
we rarely take
so we could hear the frogs
in the creek
whenever the cars weren’t
whooshing past us
and we had
a moment of stillness
he snores
i smell the scent
of wood smoke from chimneys
see the blanket of low clouds
not quite fog
listening again
to the throaty calls
of frogs
Poem 20160116
she wrapped the scarf
around his neck
and then around her own
the red scarf
was long enough
and the weather
cool enough
to warrant such a thing
no need to bundle up
under the full weight
no need to bear it
all on her own
so much better to
share the warmth
to create a short
woolen bridge
between them
as they sat and watched
the sun go down
Poem 20160115
The Friday Haiku
—–
coffee on her breath
sun rising real in her eyes
two morning kisses
Poem 20160114
so silent
i can hear the buzzing
in my ears
a thousand bees
or just the rushing of blood
or a damaged nerve
i hear what there is to hear
in this silence
outside
a bird flies to the feeder
disappointed
by the low seed
Poem 20160113
he had nothing
in his hands to offer
yet she took them anyway
–but my hands are empty
she filled his cupped palms
with cool water
in the dark
they watched
the moon undulate
in his palms
–you have enough
Poem 20160112
i dream of cracking teeth
wake with an aching jaw
sure that my mouth is full
of broken bits of bone
awash in frothy blood
this news is old
and my eyes cloud
milky and cold
the silence loud