Snow drifts from the sky whitely combing
the red and golden yellow leaves;
when it melts,
bare limbs climb into the sky.
I want to lie on those whorls of wood,
like mastheads of stately Nordic goddesses
or my tender frozen ancestral grandmothers,
dreaming of Daphne, firey gowns
stripped by solar winds to stark
nude greys of Winter.
Thick ridges of weather
carved rivulets
in the bark.
_____
Visit Riverside Rambles for the 18th edition of the Festival of the Trees, where this little poem is included among many great entries.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Elana Wolff's 'everybody knows a ghost,' in conversation with Brenda Clews
EVERYBODY KNOWS A GHOST (Guernica Editions, 2026), a book launch by Elana Wolff in conversation with Brenda Clews. Available for sale at all...
-
Basquiat at the AGO: An Untitled Portrait When asked about his frequent use of "carbon" (tar, asbestos), Basquiat shot back, ... -
Pablo Valdivia, Breathing Underwater translated from the Spanish by Ross Woods Guernica Editions, Fall 2014 102 pages Trade Paperback... -
Forecast by Clara Blackwood Guernica Editions, Spring 2014 108 pages Trade Paperback ISBN13: 9781550718195 ISBN10: 1550718193 Engl...
Hi Brenda - I found your post through the festival of the trees. Lovely poem - very textural. :)
ReplyDeleteJLB
Thanks, JLB!
ReplyDeleteWow! You almost reverse the "picture=1000 words" claim.
ReplyDeleteA.Decker, that's very sweet! Thanks!
ReplyDelete