Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member

Members

twitter: @genericnug #illhueminati

Poems

JC Lucas Sep 2015
Magpie alights on the eaves
tonguing a bitter wild berry
***** head left,
right,
decides against this spot
and relocates to a new one
out of sight.

Autumn happened today,
again.
Same as every year.
I was under the shade of the porch,
coffee in hand,
and smelt a change in the taste of the wind.
It's been at least ten degrees cooler
and I've donned the first piece of warm clothing
since April.

Magpie perches on the red wooden
fence on my right,
still gently squeezing that berry-
as if testing its ripeness.
Head ***** left,
head ***** right,
magpie flies away.

The leaves will start to turn this week.
Maybe next.
My coffee is lukewarm now,
same as the air.

Magpie sits in the yard
and carefully sets his lunch down,
prods his beak into the soil,
picks it back up,
and buries it for later.
Magpie flies away.

A rush of cold air sweeps through me.

Same as every year.

I rise and walk,
mug in hand,
back inside.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
and the myth goes along the lines - had i but the eyes to spot
a silver spoon - there chimed a magpie in the the night,
a cackle compared with the rhapsodic
crow call to wake up Barbarossa...
                    the cackle and the literary laugh...
there she was, with the Kraken -
                        she was there bewildered
to sing a song, sroka among the magpie calls
to tell tales of silenced lightning
                        without thunder.....
                shamanic in the extreme:
what a strange nationalism being born
with extracts of a former colonialism in Ukraine -
lost, forgotten, and a brief testament to Israel -
do i feel any pride? perhaps i should...
                  i better myself in the word spoken:
sroka is above magpie -
       the serenity of the sharpened consonants,
the flight to become werewolf legend -
                               sroka, or magpie -
as a language there are some offences -
                           which cannot translate, but merely
tarnish...
                                     s and r
           are two consonants that out-perform stress /
authenticity when m and g are used...
                the tongue is more important than the breath,
counter the metaphysical greek breath that's known
as psyche: i.e.                    γλωßα -
                                         to treat the tongue akin
to the mind, and soul as the authenticity of the verb
thought: when all organs automate, akin
to the kidneys dialysis.
           yes, sroka / magpie...
                                crow / kruk             / crux
                      or the shadow of Golgotha...
                                     toward us: the darkened hour...
                           to gloss over - to speak a phrase in demand -
                 sire *** qua non byzantine sprechen.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
well peasant boy milked the cow proved god
that fed and gave the mosquito,
and the people still desired the flashy bling:
that stole the magpie -
that stole the magpie from the cake
in diadem of whipped cream of having it too;
what the magpie stole, from having it too to not having
it, the magpie with the magpie’s thieving eye
accustomed itself to what is desired being thieved
but not thieved by a magpie:
aesop’s eloquence would have helped here
to compare a silver spoon given to the groom
prior to marriage... as the twinkle in that magpie’s eye
or the antidote in bullet shot at a warewolf
sitting lonesome with the moon, bare-chested in the forest
hearing a creepy sound of a fallen branch breaking nearby
under pressure from a foot - echoing the words:
‘no wild animal comes this close to man in the depths of its niche.’