Monday, December 26, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Wild Things in the Night
The committee of roosters gathers
at my ankles, the night
drifts off like a loose horse.
In my ears the coyotes' laddered song
still lingers. Wild open throated.
A language not so strange
awakens the heart,
gleefully, from a simple dream.
I wake with the sun,
the field is empty.
I look down into the petal of my hand,
and in between the fingers,
one tuft of gold-gray fur remains.
c2011 T.L.Stokes (all rights reserved)
Labels:
contemporary poetry,
coyote,
Pacific Northwest,
Seattle poetry,
songs,
T.L. Stokes
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Matilda the Hen
Within the pink stairs of brain's
abalone a new sun rises,
within cobbled membranes
lighting the electric boundary
and in this warm darkness,
the black sea flows.
I fear I am drowning.
I fear my heart's pain.
I fear that suddenly
the weight of life
may snap the last strong fiber.
Where will my spirit go
into that eagle's sky?
I pray for safety, I pray for a moment
of solid ground,
the earth's fragrant voice
in my ear, singing "Life! Life!"
Who will save me,
how will I save myself?
I am not the single heron
rowing through the marshes,
I am one plain swan in the field of many.
We turn the horizon snowy.
Or I am Matilda, the hen who circles
with her eye in the sky,
trying to stay up with the others.
....if one day is dark, the next must be light.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
blindness is a horse
Blindness is a horse
before it arrives,
the mesmerizing song of hoof beat
vibrating across the field;
how the grass parts
suddenly,
and moss, kicked up
into chips of black sparks
dancing away.
Dark is not dark
if you remember,
though the eyes are blind,
the heart can see,
and fog is not fog
except for clarity,
the space of air before
and above,
bordering
the softness.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
A Seed Falls in the Field
The sound of a seed which falls in the field
shatters the heart open,
grandmother maples who throw their hands
across the belly of earth
glance my way.
And I say to my daughter
the sun:
Say hello to my grandbaby Lemon.
Sing it a song today,
tell it about what you are seeing,
white frosty morning.
Play some beautiful classical music
to swim to.
Tell it we love it so much
that the colors of the world
dim slightly,
the sun turns to us,
the moon tips down,
and one still,
quiet night in May
your arms will be waiting.
for Heather and Derek
and the lovely lemon
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