"vole" poems
i
give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..
give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..
give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..
let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..
( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)
give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars
as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..
ii
the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..
just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the
drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals
and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat
and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..
some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..
bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..
there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..
some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering
some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen
small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..
a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..
and regression
bad men
bad men..
lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler
assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..
a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..
a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..
helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..
and the jonah
gone and all
is light..
the end..
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles
several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees
Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool
DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site
there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African
FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out
Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve
I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS
Who has a pet IGUANA?
Some people say my uncle is a *******
KANGAROOS have muscular tails
Obama rhymes with LLAMA
in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose
a NEWT likes being in a warm environment
some OCTOPI have black dye
baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly
in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL
RACCOONS live in rocky dens
a TAPIR has a very long nose
UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle
if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole
WOMBATS move in a very slow manner
an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel
the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS
Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
I am the raven,
I eat the dead,
I am the raven,
I remember all things,
I am the raven,
I build all,
I am the raven,
I know all things.
I am the otter,
In rivers and creeks I swim,
I am the otter,
I eat and I play,
I am the otter,
On slopes I slide,
Joy is mine,
In the mountain streams,
I own the rivers,
I feed on their fish.
I am the snake,
The serpent I am,
Between and through move I,
On belly I crawl,
Gold are my scales,
Glacier blue and silver,
All colours they change,
First one then the other,
I taste the air with my tongue,
Through my belly,
I listen to all,
Far craftier than all,
The beast of the field am I.
I am the fox,
The vixon am I,
Crafty and wise,
And hard to catch,
In the ground I live,
Cross the fields I race,
Quick and fast,
I take what I want,
Nothing is safe,
If it I desire,
A vixon am I,
Fleet foot and large tail,
Back and forth it moves,
Grace and escasy,
All come to me,
All I desire.
I am hawk,
I soar and I fly,
Above the plains,
All things I see,
None see what I see,
From up above,
Down I soar,
To **** and eat,
Still on a wire,
Or on a fence,
I know when to wait,
I know when it's time,
When prey is in sight,
Not a second to lose.
I am the vole,
Who lives in the field,
Down in the earth,
I burrow and dig,
Across the field,
All seeds are mine,
To eat and enjoy,
From dusk until dawn,
Timid and cautious,
I look to the sky,
I cannot fight,
I'm weak and I'm small,
But many am I,
And many more come,
And still we will be,
When all you are gone.
I am the owl,
Silent and still,
You know not I passed,
Only my wind,
Silent end deadly,
Queen of the night,
I will consume,
Whatever I catch.
I am the horse,
Across the plains do I run,
Swifter than all,
The one none can catch,
I run like the wind,
For we are one kind,
My mane and my tail,
Like banners and flags,
Nothing can stop us,
Nothing can try,
For we're always moving,
The fast wind and I.
I am the trout,
See how my scales glisten,
I am the trout,
At home in the water,
I swim and I breathe,
What causes others to drown,
I listen to the water,
The rivers, the creeks, the lakes,
The secrets I know,
No others can know.
I am the eagle,
High, high I soar,
Queen of the high places,
All others beneath,
What is not prey,
I care not at all,
I and I only,
See what I see.
But above all tonight,
The fox and vixon am I,
****** and sensual,
Grace and desire,
In the land where the sun sets,
This land that is dusk,
I am all ***
The kiss of the dead,
The dusk sets like dust,
It powders my fur,
In the night do I hunt,
In the night do I *****
My fur is desire,
My tail moves and calls,
I walk here as ***
All come to my call.
~I Am the Fox by Lorekeeper, June 7, 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime
Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning
Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong
Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling
Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ?
Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant,
Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ?
Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres.
Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre
Si tu ne les comprends pas
Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi
La mangouste et le raccoon.
De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski
Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose
Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto
Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher
Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence
C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz,
C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal
C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances.
Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov
Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri
C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine
C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch
Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule
Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment.
Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline
Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur
De son eau sainte
Et qui fuit la Jamaïque
Et part à l'étranger
Après son forfait.
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine
Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur
Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses
Et tous les chiens savent son nom.
il s'appelle Sly Mangoose
Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère
C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu
Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs
Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:05 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before darkfall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
Deer loved one
Please bear with me,
owl bee with ewe as soon as possum bull.
Rhino that things have been on paws lately
bat remember I toad you;
Toucan always find me some plaice warm in your heart
if I'm not lion there beside you.
Giraffe nothing to fear, no one can break the lynx we've made.
Mine is a love that'll never panda, narwhal it
hound any other sole but jaws and yours alone.
You're the porpoise I wake up every morning.
Wren all otter things are bleak, you're my ray of sunshine.
You let minnow weevil always have each other.
With you, newt time passes but stops still.
Love you with vole of my heart
ant i'll never desert you.
Until hen Gobi good
Yours truly
...
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
across the canals we gallantly roamed
our engine horse drawn
the quilt of the bubolic defines us,
basking under hazy willow
the scattering of cowslip and orchids
purveyed through the bankside,
with the staggered moon
pacing our miidnight dreams
amongst croaking frogs
and the knowing water vole
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
In the long nothings of blackest night
Owl whispers. Hair of mouse stands,
As only an under sieged without spear
Can and grave vole, simply wide open
On his mat of dead leaves, drying time
And even the hare, without hope, hops
Maddeningly caught in dark labyrinths
Without sight, dear is the silent scream
Of all that was mere, so slim after light,
Night scurry, dash, curled fingers, prey.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Il y a des personne qui pour un court instant, comme un petit papillon de Madagascar,
peuvent vous sourie et satisfaire avec une innocence bienveillante si naturelle qu’on ne
trouve dans aucun endroit ou presque :
hammam de luxe !
Il y a des temples enfouis si inouïe qui illumine ma galaxie et te demande, pour guide.…
Oh, steppes arides Mexicaines, mes séculaires puits désert, mes horizons abandonné prés d’
Himalaya qui cherche routard et vie avec.
Huile brulés et larmes séché, enfance volé, démon si prés ne te demande rien : que guide.
Il y à toujours pour nous, les doigts d’une main dans une caresse sublime, parce que tes
bras, courre devant moi, :
Ne t’arête pas, car ton sourire éclate le jade dans blanc si minérale, parfum dans vert
sapin, j’irrigue ainsi et je cultive.Je donne la vie pour que tout ça, anime esprit, Himalaya, donne confiance dans mon éveille,voyage sans fin et vagabonde, les haut plateaux du thé :
« Marquise du haut : regard tout bas ! »
Suis ce fou errant, pour avant ce sale gamin à qui personne dessine :
Ton danse présent pollen mon sens et dans ma voix, je cour couleur de pluie sur ciel pour toi,
libérer mes ailles, un jour pour soie si fine, que tu vêtis dans robe hammam ,
dans Innocence marré Mexique qui Guides ce vol -Vien dans le mien, illumines !
ALEXANDRE STARK
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
The sunrise burns the sky
A carefully coloured explosion
Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie
Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion:
Yellow carnation shards sway
With this violent advent of day.
In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle
Beneath the groping canopy
Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle
Shields the frequent woodland scree
Covering with a verdant flush
Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush.
Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun
Sweeps aside the cloud-
The red into blue and orange has run
And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly loud
Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit,
All compounded into daily habit.
The Kent Downs rise and fall
Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time
When hill, wood and pool
Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime.
Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood,
For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood.
Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows
Claw enmeshed in feather,
Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows
Of nature and weather.
Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient-
Kindness remains deficient.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
The rain it pooled deep within the leaf, the hollow
and drank there - insect, vole and swallow
along a mud and marshy path, my feet for to follow
and tread upon the lichen moss, I sank softly greening
watching all the day, the trickling of the woodland trees
the light that breathed there glistening.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Recollections by the window
darkness at the door,
a spent cigarette,
a dried up memory bank-
a laptop lying purposefully in the grass.
in between the moment is the event
The wood is riven by foxes
whimpering with cloven paws
the newly accommodated ******
rakes up a new home
the water vole scurries into the infested water
in between the moment is the event
reproduced in the computer
action and moment have ceased,
action and intent no longer connected
time and thought perpetually adjusted
hollow rain signifies emptiness
a blank screen eternity.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
In sandaled feet we stroll beside the hedgerow
And Satan’s nettle bites with wicked teeth;
But doctor leaf is growing in abundance:
Open all hours to provide relief.
For God created all things bright and wondrous
And took his rest upon the seventh day;
Then evil set to work with Mother Nature
And led the birds and beasts and bugs astray.
The owl and hawk prey upon helpless creatures:
Vole, shrew and rabbit are their daily bread;
While fox sneaks up and steals the farmer’s poultry
And banquets when the farmer’s in his bed.
Way up above our heads in lofty tree tops
A greater crime’s committed than the rest:
The infant cuckoo murders all his siblings,
By pushing eggs and fledglings from the nest.
Survival of the fittest is important
In order for a species to survive;
If only dodos had been more aggressive-
Then those peculiar birds might be alive.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
Jeter ma gourme
Voilà ce que je voudrais faire
Et surtout la jeter avec toi
Et commettre ainsi mes premières frasques
Ou plutôt les secondes
Car j'ai oublié les premières.
Jeter sa gourme
Ce n'est pas se gourmer
Ce n'est pas un duel
C'est faire exploser sa pureté séminale
Et vouloir semer sa semence
Aux quatre vents
Mais moi ma semence telle une pivoine sauvage
Vole légère et virginale pour se blottir en toi
Te pénétrer, te fertiliser, ma méduse pélagique, à l'ombrelle bleue et rose,
Jusqu'aux derniers interstices
Accepte ma gourme, translucide et molle
Je ne la jette pas
Je te l'offre, cette efflorescence,
Je te la destine
Je te l'adresse dans tes eaux.
Je suis dans ma seconde jeunesse
Et je te prie de croire que cette gourme
Est un précipité pimenté de cheval, d'hippocampe et d'hippopotame
Même si elle n 'a rien d'un mastodonte.
Et non seulement je veux qu'elle te fertilise
Mais je veux que tu la goûtes
Et la savoure comme un bon bourgogne
Ou beaujolais nouveau
Je veux que tu t'en badigeonnes
Le corps et l'âme
Je veux que tu t'en maquilles
Les lèvres et les paupières
Et que ce fluide soit ta crème de beauté permanente.
Je veux que dans chaque café du petit matin
Une deux ou trois gouttelettes de cette gourme vienne sucrer ta journée
Et l'égayer de délicieuses bandaisons intimes
Et invisibles mais réelles
Lèche, prends, c'est de la tendresse liquide
De la chaleur liquide
De l'amour liquide
C'est ma cyprine à moi
Et comme je suis bavard et volubile
Je m'en sers pour t'écrire
En hiéroglyphes dont seule toi peut lire
Les encres sympathiques
Et je te dis :
Ma gourme t'aime maintenant
Ma douce, torride et brûlante Pelagia noctulica.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 4:11 AM UTC
On campus--at the very top of the new
eagle pole--a raven struts, one fleck of blood
stuck to his beak from morning carrion, bright
black eyes the same primeval color
as those on the pole. This ode to nature,
this prayer, this harmony of adzeman’s skill,
tradition, inspiration, and sacred task—I’ll
admire it later—was carved by folks who knew
from childhood each crest and its nature.
Mostly from the clan, and of course blood
relatives, they memorized each color
of each crest, how to mix together bright
pigments from this root, that bulb--right
amounts of everything, reagent to skill
to alchemy--required to make each color
sing. The importance of ritual to renew.
Significance of Nature, consequence of blood.
Black iron raven in landscaped nature
patch consults his brother. “Our nature
is belligerent, our destiny to chase bright,
shiny objects and live off the blood-
sticky leavings of another’s ****
Don’t you think we should blaze a new
path for ourselves?” Replies the other, “The color
of your coat is lighter than the color
of your mood today.”All around them Nature
labors. “Brother, we don’t need a new
direction. Our future, as always, is bright.
We’re the keepers of knowledge. Our skill
at irony keeps us relevant. As long as blood
is red They will need us.” He ***** on the blood
red head of the top crest. A streak the color
of snow bounces down the faces. “If you ask, I’ll
reply,” he cackles, which makes Nature
grin. A fuzzy red vole begins to climb right
up the front of the pole, as I realize how new
it is, how fresh the pine. When I think of the blood
shed by men for money I am struck dumb. Right here--the only color
green you ever need--Nature. I’d as soon carve as ****
11/3/10
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:15 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
there was a little kestrel he was very sad
he couldnt see to hunt his eyesight it was bad
he couldnt see the rabbits or the mouse and vole
everything was blurred the poor little soul.
he met his friend the owl and told him of his plight
to see if could help and try to fix his sight
owl was very wise and knew what do
owl he made some glasses and restored his view.
kestrel he was happy he got back his sight
now he could hunt again wether day or night
he could catch his prey when he began to soar
he could see again just like he could before
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
In the long nothings of blackest night
Owl whispers. Hair of mouse stands,
As only an under sieged without spear
Can and grave vole, simply wide open
On his mat of dead leaves, drying time
And even the hare, without hope, hops
Maddeningly caught in dark labyrinths
Without sight, dear is the silent scream
Of all that was mere, so slim after light,
Night scurry, dash, curled fingers, prey.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC