Cinder and Sheaves – Poetry

through air streaming and green-lit
hefting chalk-hulled flint.
we move through the brush,
the red filaments burn wild.

a finger furrowed field
waits with a harrow heavy guild
to trap us
in the fiery wheat.

Ringdoves roost well within this wood-
they sing and squawk as best they could.
yet tomb-like figurines cut through
this heavy land and slice their wings.

flayed colors ripen on the bramble
and the lost willow pixies amble
over thorns of sprigged hedge
and on the ledge they balance their small hooves.

a perse sky above shakes with rain
small droplets leave as soon they came

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s