Woven of the Wind

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Where will you go

Now, little pigeon, pearl white and black jet?

Will you perch on the petals

Of the moon

And peck at tufts of cloud and raindrops?

Will your wings be woven of the wind

And your eyes of starlight hewn?

Will you fly with pigeon angels

To a faraway flowered land

To feathered friends known

Well from feathered dreams?

Where will you go

Now, little one,

Now that the sun has set

And the new moon gleams

Bright through the mist

Over the tall pines?

Will you pass this way someday again

In a sunlit distant springtime?

Will you nod your head to say hello

And walk with happy feet

Among the snow and buttercups?

 

© Sharon St Joan, written around 1990

Photo: © Aqvamarin / Dreamstime.com

Where now?

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Where now the dark-circling

 

Wolves?  Where the half-haunting

 

Moon?  Where the swift paws running?

 

Where now the mists

 

That rose above the lake

 

In the early spring?

 

Are the spirits all flown to that far country

 

Beyond the black hills of night

 

The hills of indigo?

 

Where butterflies flicker

 

In bright mythic

 

Forests,

 

Where the great raven

 

Smiles in her cosmic

 

Tree,

 

And ruffles her feathers in the cool air

 

Scattering stars across the open sea below?

 

Written around 2009

© Sharon St Joan

Photo: Rackam | Dreamstime.com

 

Heron

 

GreatBlue

 

 

Heron of grace, blue buffoon

 

Of elegance

 

Stretching his endless

 

Wings over the moon

 

Wading on spider toes

 

Through still

 

Timeless

 

Water

 

Among glass reeds

 

That glitter in a radiance

 

Of emerald beads,

 

Beyond the hill

 

The world dips

 

Under lace of lavender

 

Into the ringed smoke of cities,

 

Fallen and gone,

 

While, in opalescent flight,

 

The heron slips

 

Upwards through the windows

 

Of many lilies

 

Into the open night

 

Of the rain-winged dawn.

 

Written around 1998

 

Photo: Great blue heron. Photo by Gary Kramer, USFWS / “If an image on one of our sites is not restricted and does not say it is copyrighted, then you can assume it is in the public domain.” – USFWS

One day

One day

There may appear

A pale gray

Harrier

Who floats

In the silent summer sun

Wings black-tipped, courrier

Of archaic worlds,

White petal of the ineffable,

Calling

To follow

Only the voice that the unlistening

Never hear,

Only the ever-haunting wind

Outside the walled gate,

To sail off to a high

Cliff still clad in coats

Of scraps of snow

A place of rushing wings

Flickering waters,

And sky-footed goats

Who leap

Where only the graceful go.

 

Written around 2001

 

Photo:  © Michael Miller | Dreamstime.com / Male northern harrier

Spotted towhee

 

Spotted towhee

On a day,

Gray-eyed,

Songless

As an unsettled fairy

Of the mountain,

Her hair

Caught in a half-done braid,

What do the shadows portend,

Pale

In the misted wind?

As light

Falls, the dragon

At the far end

Of the shale

Outcrop

Of the night

By the undawning retreat

Of his lair,

Paces, his wide

Paws restless.

But nevermind,

The lilies shine,

Where lapping waters linger

At the bend

In the gold river

Where the glad, brave feet

Of the spotted towhee

Dance,

Moonlight

On his wings,

And hop

From rock to silver rock, wise,

And undismayed.

And beyond, before the sun

Can rise,

Rings of rain

Crown

The hallowed head of the raven

Who walks through the town

Of clouds, child-mists in train,

Radiant king of all things.

 

Written September 5, 2011

Photo: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license http://www.naturespicsonline.com/