Upon and Over

Swallows circle.
Jetting dives,
they skim the water
then away.
An intricate play
of circles and spirals
entwine.

Each time they touch
upon the pond
an unseen life
is snatched away.

Spider riding
its own tension,
a fly, a gnat,
some larval form
of buzzing thing

inconvenient
or unpleasant to us
and better gone,
invisible
at this distance.

The swallow
is beautiful,
red head, white breast
blue across its back,
and the elegant
forked tail.

I admire its form
and grace
as I ride home
balanced upon
my own tension.

At Lafayette Square


Wren stands
on the round
stainless steel table top,

feet tread a burnished surface
which shimmers as water,
even in shade.

She looks up at me
expecting food
but I am behind glass.

After a moment, she hops
to the chair back
and flies.

—-
The tables there are round now. LOL.
Loosely following the dVerse poem prompt.

Dystopian

Cityscape

Steel girders, bare, arise a crosshatch grid
from wooded mounds.  By millions, birds nest safe
above sharp, forest-prowling fangs and eyes
that slink among still, shadowed limbs.  Deep night:
the hollow light of stars above.  No moon
is needed.  Hunter and hunted alike
see forms, smell countless others, hear each stir
from rest.  A cry and struggle.  Crunching bone.
Torn flesh consumed through warning growls.  Birds blink,
impassive, perched on I-beams, acres deep
and high and wide.  New gargoyles for a new
dark age, their dung piled deep beneath their roosts.

St. Valentine’s Day is Coming!

Wrote this back in 2005.  After a bit of critique I am revising….

—-

First Things

Snow feathered bird
I meet in the blossom unfolding,
in scraped-knuckle scabs,
in a wild forest held by countless eyes,
why am I drawn
to your beauty?

In us both
rhythmic cycles of breath
and blood course coelacanth
cold ocean depths
through memory.

Shall I reach my hand
to your untamed frame?

In me alone,
a bright garden — fresh
for naming — burns in my bones,
its dew laden leaves
and bright wings aflutter
in distant past
ever present.

Eden’s sorrow
unmoved by years
of quiet song.

Grief is riskless slow decline.
Snow-feathered bird of my meeting,
I chance this joy;
your red crest flourish
vivid in a cautious wood.

Myth Transformed

An archetypal story revisited.  Actually, a few myths combined/echoed.

Mythos

for Marika

A canary unicycle
flies through the streets
ridden by a girl
with windswept black hair.
In her hand
a string
taut to the sky
trails out further and further
to a speck of kite
skimming the outer reaches
of atmosphere,
then a spiral fall
spinning shimmer
races down to meet her.
A blur descends,
grazes the grass,
noses up with beating wings
and perches on her shoulder
as she races
to meet the sun.

Mythos

for Marika

A canary unicycle

flies through the streets

ridden by a girl

with windswept black hair.

In her hand

a string

taut to the sky

trails out further and further

to a speck of kite

skimming the outer reaches

of atmosphere,

then a spiral fall

spinning shimmer

races down to meet her.

A blur descends,

grazes the grass,

noses up with beating wings,

and perches on her shoulder

as she races

to meet the sun.