January 29, 2012

poem 29 of a poem a day for 2012




pooling a Goddess birthed silence 

the wind driven
snow bellowed
magic here
seems to be 
painting 
the clouds tonight
with an odd 
orange belly of rust 
in the tress
pin-holing time 
brush-pressing it
in kept petal falls 
towards the ground
searching cemeteries 
to womb

there are no words here 

only pine boughs draped
as transfixed as I  
each bent slow sway  
each swirled stilled  
matter of the Moon
each time the air freezes
this realization 
that you are
breathing in these
thoughts of her
when everything 
fades to white

there is only a certain lunacy here

with a soft wrangle 
of chimes
in the distance
that know 
to play 
the rest
the mute 
the note 
the savor and
the spill sounds  
of angled intricate  
of happenstance
of danced chances 
taken to begins
every song 
sign-points 
past the tombstones  
past where eyes 
are most alive
in the frays and tatters
in the bled pastel 
scattered seeds
that leap faith
onto the charcoal sky's 
backdrop of needs


EJR (c)

1 comment:

  1. You have such a gift, Edward.

    "there is only a certain lunacy here"

    "with a soft wrangle
    of chimes"

    "the spill sounds
    of angled intricate"

    "charcoal sky's
    backdrop of needs"

    ReplyDelete