Tag: animal poem

Poems

The Winged Bull

by sharonstjoan2 Comments on The Winged Bull

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Where now

 

The mist enthralled horn

 

Of the sacred bull

 

In the morning snow?

 

Where the circling stair of dawn,

 

Lost in the clouded mountain

 

Heights.  Gone.

 

Fled from the grinding cars

 

Of destruction.

 

Gone.

 

Yet still,

 

The winged bull

 

Did not die.

 

He waits on the far hill,

 

Beyond the last constellation

 

Of the sky,

 

His gold hoof pawing the thin air,

 

His breath

 

Smoking,

 

Waiting,

 

For the downfall of the masters

 

Of death,

 

For the undoing

 

Of the king of disasters,

 

Waiting to regain

 

His half-forgotten

 

Realm, that the lakes of the full

 

Moon may smile again,

 

Where

 

The heron

 

Walks on her silver toe

 

Across deep pools of stars.

 

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2013, written in 2007

 

 

Photo: © Yuriykulik | Dreamstime.com

 

 

 

 

Animals and the earth, Poems

Dawn

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on Dawn

The cat-in-the-moon tiptoes

Through mist-meadows

Above the lake

That softly chimes.

There, nothing glistens

In the night-mirrored brake

No space, no time, nor history, nor dreams,

Only the scent of the white

Petal

Wafting forever on wind-beams.

While the moon-cat curls again

Into the cloudspun

Cave of timeless times,

Here, in this hour of roses,

And of all things newly begun,

The blue heron

Listens

Between the dawnlight

And the shadows

For the shimmering arrival

Of the great gold wings of the sun.

Written around 1991

Photo: © Luckynick / Dreamstime.com

Poems

The howl of the wind

by sharonstjoan1 Comment on The howl of the wind

Pin up your soul

Then

And sell it too

In the devil’s sale

For a hatful of dollars.

Isn’t that what you’re doing?

And does your soul bleed

Like the trophy

You pinned

Up on the bounty string

While the desert grew

Cold

Wrapped in the pale

Skeleton of the night?

A tale half-told,

Withered on the vine.

Did you kill the moon too?

It looks white

And all dead hung out up there in the sky

To dry

Where the pine

Tree

Rattles in the old

Whine

And the howl

Of the wind.

And the tatter-faced owl

Is watching,

Still watching

From the luminous cliffs, caped all in shadows,

Bending over to read

The bones of her toes.

A lost bell might toll

While she waits for the world to fold

Up into the far, silver sea

Of whales and sails, and coral shale

That will sing once again

In the bright

Waters,

Deeper and blue.

March 12, 2012

 

Photo: © Dgareri / Dreamstime.com / A coyote