Variations On a Feather

DSCN0702Four Haikus and a Cherita:

From the sky it floats—
silver dove’s tail feather
landing in my hand
________________________

Falling from the sky
band-tailed silver plumage
catch it in my hands
________________________

Feather of a dove
falling from a sky of grey
my cold hands catch it
_______________________

Band-tailed doveling
somewhere in a cold, grey sky
gifts a tuft of white
_______________________

A bare-foot man at dawn

with three rabbits
and a bevy of doves

rehearse the day
when out of the sky
feathers fall like rain

 

 

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Fiddlehead Fern Plays An Early Note

Here’s the 7th installment of winter Haikus. My goal: a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘coyote’ poems over the winter, sharing in groups of 10. (See the others: Cricket’s Eye Point-of-View, Being Stalked By A Forest, Wings Like Boomerangs, My Tent is Leaking Haikus, Always Coming and Going, and Dancing Naked In the Rain)
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IMG_7830Nettles in my cup
eastern light slides over plum
blossoms popping white
____________________________

In a morning mood
a choir of coyotes
sing the winter morn
___________________________

Early second moon
haikus in the morning frost
jays write them better
___________________________

Mushrooms emerging—
A Potawatomi word
has it: puhpowee!
___________________________

Pink in the morning
white and yellow with the sun—
daisy eyes open
___________________________

Music of the woods
fiddlehead of lady fern
play you on my tongue
___________________________

A fiddlehead fern
early note of forest spring
makes a tasty treat
________________________

On the edge of flight
will she jump out of her nest,
Little fledgling moon?
________________________

February moon
caught in the branches again
will she ever learn?
________________________

Cold night, morning frost
only thing hot is my blood
on a low boil
________________________

Mid-winter dream:
liberation by solstice
But first—bad habit

 

From the Throat of Your Own Bones

heart earIn the countless echoes of the night
the hearing happens:

you know the whisper
because it comes from the throat
of your own bones

A dangerous syllable
slick with lightning blood

If today is not the day for hearing…

That ancient song of earth
sings itself in your animal subterranean

thrusting leaf crimson
and fertile debris
while the wind creature unfolds
and hugs your ribs
at midnight
speaking the images
trying to break out

Hear you not the
shell spiraling upward
in indigenous sea sounds
of magenta mellifluous?

The way in opens with each step

If today is not the day to feel it…

If today is not the day
to turn an ear towards your
bones exquisite…

Crack of ice flow
River walking out of the
depths into your present

If today is not the day….

When is?

A Currant Affair

IMG_7696

Pink-flowering Currant (Ribes sanguineum glutinosum)

A mid-winter warmth wins your hand
and draws you out for pendulous play
to blossom right in front of me
a dream of pink in light of day

Draw me in your inflorescence
Draw me in with all your senses
Draw me with sweet sagey scents and
Draw me in with rosy fervence

Fragrant is your dangling racemes
bunching grapes of blushing dreams

Your pretty little grape does dangle
in morning dew at such an angle
I want to pluck but dare not do it
perhaps the spring brings ripened fruit

I want to be a tiny ant
and on my tongue take in the sweet
But I’ll wait a little longer
and savor all your lovely treats

Coffee berry is your partner
the ruby-throated loves you too
a sparkle in the green and grey
it doesn’t take you much to woo

Grow in flow of warming current
purple berry in longer days
I want a taste, Sweetest Currant
before the birds take you away

Is Your Castle Bee Proof?

rampartWhat rampart wrought again?
oh how you worked so well that stone within

Iron bound and tough beyond which
no entrance to the throne at all
and repelling any purchase on your wall

What sentinels on parapets posted
with fistly smiles of security boast
yet mute your extravagant heart?

The bees of love have come,
sound the alarm–

Let the bells sound off:
Sing, Song, Sang, Sung!
Ring, Rang, Rung!

Ablaut! Ablaut! The bees are about!
They’re tickling
the rampart east and south!

Abominate with love your fear,
dressed as knights
and like shadows at noon,
let the sentinels take flight

Once they’ve abjured the realm
to move on to better positions
worthy of their vigilance

Let even your fourth stomach
form an original conversation
with the open meadow

While the bees sip sweetly
your bold blood
drunk on delicious dreams
in your throne room

The Down and Up of It

descentBetween the building up
and tearing down
there’s a canyon thin
as laurel leaf
wide as Turtle Island

I used to flail in the gorge
nearly drowning in dark waters
cracking my pretty head on rocks
collecting bruises like bees gather pollen

Then I learned to leap across
or build a skinny bridge–
a fast but dishonest way

So I relinquished shortcuts
and learned the down and up of it
and joined the ancient apprenticeship
of descent and ascent

hopping boulders like some
drunken wizard of the mountain
jackrabbit of all shades, master of sun

I’ve lost track of how many times
a day I carry water between
my letting go and claiming–
thirsty in equal measures

But sit here satiated on lichened stone
walking between the horizons
of all my risings and settings

The puddle’s muddy,
and sometimes the muddle’s puddy,
but the surface is a mirror
that doesn’t lie, reflecting

a sun that’s ripe for plucking
like an unlikely winter plum
drifting like a scent in the wind
and a moon that’s always sliding out
from between her prison bars
ever flowing her unfolding