"wingbeats" poems
You could die for it--
love,
or refuse it altogether
and know nothing
except the urgency
of youth. Men
have been
solitary
for ages
carrying the
stoniest of hearts
in their broad chests
while we women
begin too early
brush the brown leaves
from our shoulders, go
from bloom to fade
as soon as
we see the sunrise
We let our eyes go first
Then there is the limp lolling
of our hearts from side to side
the tongue we cut away
the blind kiss on the backlash of night
the giving giving giving of skin
As women
we blindly wish
past the ****** of passion
as we vanish into a world of men
whose ribcages we were scraped from
Perhaps we are born of seeds
our essence crawling up the stem
to feed the bees.
Perhaps
every flower you see
is a woman
and when
she's in bloom
and when she is blooming
red
and when her leaves are wingbeats
of green in the autumn wind
beating wings of green, yes
even as the wind tries to humiliate her
it fails because
she's in love
and only she would die for it
2.7k
by Sara L. Russell, 30/10/13 at 01:03am
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul; a garden sealed;
I carry my soul deep within, all of Heaven enfolds me;
My cross is my talisman, my banner and protector,
All of Dante's angels ascending and descending surround me.
My bed is a vessel of peace on a sea of tranquil clouds;
Oceans of rolling vapour bear me up in the azure sky,
Distant birds give voice in the soporific hush of twilight,
as angels sing out blessings of love and everlasting accord.
I am a harp of harmony, a lyre of languid repose;
My heartbeat as steadfast as any jewelled timepiece of gold,
My dreaming skies are filled with wingbeats of migrating birds,
Streams shimmer with moonlight; all the forests thrum with life.
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul, protected from the night;
I carry my soul deep behind the portals of my mind,
My Lord and Creator guides me through the labyrinths of dreams,
Shadows flee from angels, wingbeats carry me till dawn.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Sara L Russell
(inspired by painting "She's Leaving Home" by Mike Kaluta)
High-rolling dunes; the landscape where I fly
With wingbeats of an eagle overhead
While to the east, the ocean's waves roll high
My astral body's light years from my bed.
My magic carpet's hung with golden bells
Festooned with lanterns, steeped in sandalwood;
Carries me higher; as the ocean swells
The sighing of the sea is understood.
A warm wind runs its whispers through my hair
The azure sky is darkening to grey
A stormy ozone crackles in the air
Like laughter, as the eagle soars away.
I cross dimensions, cheat the hand of fate,
As easily as opening a gate.
(To be continued...)
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
I watch the night owl
Soaring over the night
Free,
She effortlessly flies
Untouched by all
Unlike
I
Lesser creatures
watch her glide
as night falls with
Envy
Silent wingbeats
alert none to her presence.
All respect
Her.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
eyes of sea
caged wingbeats
the only hint
behind the visage of indifference
the shroud that daylight imposes
and darkness disperses
for beneath lies
pain
desire
whispers of oblivion
desperation
that draws forth tears
mixing sleep and wakefulness
yet
somehow
granting more peace
than the glittering sands
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
The honeybee delights in her perch
Crooning ageless songs to the tussore silk petals
A low thrum in the sweet saffron ****
A brush of honey around her entrance
She is the fae
Moth, too
Stumbling to reach the pendulous light in a drunken merriment
Dancing shadows over dry walls
A thin imitation of butterfly
Who is fae, too
Centipede and silverfish
Body full of a thousand darting eyes
Cautious, careful, carried
On the tips of toddler's fingers
Crawling, cradled
In the impregnable hands of a careless child
Wingbeats like a dreary applause
In the dew-soaked trellis
The labyrinth of gossamer thread
Arachne is prideful.
Escape, escape,
There is a minute sound of a spider weeping
Dry, Like sand through an hourglass
As she wraps the children in viscid cloth
Drier still are the ghosts crackling as tiny feet
Navigate the cicada grave
Skin grows tighter and tighter
Summer is over now
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
Strong memories rise
and emotions clench my throat.
Behind my eyes I see the images.
They spin, one after another,
till they are no longer spectres.
They live again before me as it was.
The deep music plays - reminding my soul
of every ideal and dream.
I feel the wingbeats of some nightbird
and her heart's source.
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
I feel my long hair lifted by the wind.
My body begins to turn and turn in a dervish dance.
Night wind, Take me with you!
I know just where to go.
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 2:07 AM UTC
Light light beings
Sara L Russell, 10/10/16
So if we are light beings, then is the aura a fountain of white
diamond fire reflecting the sun, dancing in the air
in a million drops of exploding starlight from the seventh universe.
If we are light beings, we are beholden to shun the darkness.
Always shun the darkness, for it is full of the shadows of djinn;
those shadow people know your comings and goings,
behold, they are legion, they hunt the starlight children
fly like a moth to the light; since it holds only the luminescence of love.
We are light, we are strong, we are wingbeats of angels,
we are the blameless abiders of law from our leaders,
like a million dancing raindrops, we can weather the maelstroms,
holding the light as a feather; since it is fragile and needs our belief.
And if we are light beings, being lighter than air or arias,
then is the aura like haloes of sunbeams reflected in sea;
only then we are free to ascend in the spirit of freedom,
being the love light and keepers of tranquility.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
We went batwatching in the fields behind our school all eerie liquid in the lambent night
told how furglow wingbeats purred
beyond the skrying of our childish lights.
They see with sound and echo-
So you said.
Imagined heartbeats whisked around my head.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
In my search for the universe
I heard the wingbeats of a butterfly
Wandering from the moon to the earth
I saw the stars sprinkle dust of love
Onto lands uncharted
And in those moments
I discovered worlds inside you
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 11:25 AM UTC
without ceremony
blue-black clasps unfurl
over bone
as I drop the vessel
ashes rise
in wingbeats
to the sun
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
sometime during the day
the sun called her
and it spoke
it came in the form of a gray butterfly
(not everything is as it seems)
and it told her how important it is
to find your dream and hold tight
cool water over her head
it told her how summer goes fast
and creating may seem silly
but only to those who don’t understand
it said in wingbeats
steady and rhythmic , “
never stop writing in the morning
but for your sake girl, get some sleep
I won’t take it personally if you don’t stay awake
just to greet me in my youth-
just as you can’t follow the light into the horizon
you cannot beat the mourning”
it said to her softly in the blinks of sapphire eyes , “
elephants never forget
but they forgive
spring means rebirth,
not rain to wallow in
and
weeds matter just as much as the flowers planted there on purpose
silly girl,
take a day to read
and run fast but don’t live that way
it flew away eventually
disappeared into a green tree
in a meadow of wish flowers
sometimes the best things in life are quiet
the mountain range called night
enveloped her
the stars stood still
and she thought she could fly
see what was real
why she was born
the magic sensation of belonging
the rain felt like night too
and the winter sound wasn’t deafening
it was just loud enough
to be a favorite memory
something worth holding on to
like an alliance
how memories feel
you and me
together
against the tests of time
even when it’s standing still
the little blue house and the blue girl
one night they ran
right the way the butterfly came and went
past the green tree thicket
and the field of wish flowers
and they
never
came
back
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Opened my eyes with a tremendous start
Racing in my chest, bursting forth my heart
Longingly searching filled with desire
Mind in a blur like the house on fire
This is the feeling of all of her love
Flying around me on wings of a dove
In dreams I hear soft cooing of a dove
moved by the song to a place of warm love
basking in the glow, bright winter fire
closed eyes to memory of desire
I opened them again with such a start
I thought the shock might stop my poor ole heart
Throwing a wedge of oak on the fire
A loud knock at the door gave me a start
My blood boiled with fleeting desire
in the distance the wingbeats of a dove
sent my hands flying up to clutch my heart
noise at the door could only be my love
But the sounds I heard were not of my love
but slapping frenzy of a dying dove
looking at her body, still beating heart
knowing only the pain of desire
inside I knew this could be a new start
only if I was to fan the fire
but I lacked the drive, need, or desire
to pick up, care for, the poor wingless dove
instead kicked it over by the fire
another stick, for the fire to start
but the motion stuck me deep in my heart
and I knew this was no way to show love
Picking it up, I pressed it to my heart
And prayed with all my heartfelt desire
Asking the creator “save this poor dove”
Then, all at once, I felt some movement start
I looked at its body, light of fire
I had the power to save lives with love
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Little nooks have passed tonight
And new beginnings bore us on
But I fear nothing now
Crouch again I shan't
Loathe all above you
Curse the lightning struck so far away
But sleep with me, soft tails of hope
I am your burrow tonight
What minds are temples to these eyes?
What thoughts are wrought of dragon sleep?
What power lies awake at night
Fearing, fearing clouds?
What water stirs the millers opinion?
What algae slinks from murky adoption?
I'm you, I'm you,
The cuckoo sobs
And all else wears its feelings.
For lions may dance
Lions may sing
And lions fear no raindrop's glory
I chill, I scream, but not for your sake
For my own terrifying passage
And what is to come
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
this week is melting into the last again,
an unspooling reel of denatured days whelmed in a geodic cavity of suspense.
entombed air turns stale quickly, curable by neither smoke nor innumerable crystalline mirrors refracting the lightning blinking in my window.
occupation's familiar musk hangs heavy,
pierced only occasionally by storm sounds.
the flightless beast of languor growls an uneasy thunder
rolling adrift in a hollow sky, phantom wingbeats striking my temples
as I recoil at the realisation that my tormentor is my pulse.
lucent orbs of twilight gemmed in a shapeshifting head
stare at any number of absent realisations guilty talons rake deep into the void,
yet even this suicidal contemplation snares in ephemerality.
we barely remember to maroon the latest self-undoing consecration.
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 1:30 PM UTC