The dragon’s wrath

ID 27389832 © Zuzana Randlova |


Robbers and thieves,

One and all,

Pirates and felons who lurk in the weeds,

Did you hear the howl and the growl,

The groan

Of the earth, underfoot:



And listen.


Gold, diamonds, granite, oil, the black and the shining,

Treasures entrusted to the keep

Of the great


Yet you come and you steal,

And you carry away,

Leaving death in your wake.

With a toxic brew

Of soot,

You have tainted the wells of the living.


But you’re not alone,

And we all, companions of evil,

Turn our heads in denial,

And glance

Out the corners of our eyes,

“All we wish to say

Is this, it’s not our fault, not at all,

Not us, — no, not us, we never did anything,”

We only bought the coin that was stolen,

We only drank from the cup of lies,

We only went along for the ride,

Nothing more,

Nothing more, as we’ve mentioned before.”

And our laugh rings hollow

Among the dry reeds

Crackling in the wind gust,

Empty, by the river bed of dust.


When, from her long, cloud-held sleep,

The dragon stirs in her den,

Her wings will unfold and shake,

Flashing green and blue,

In the fire of her wrath

She will stand


On the holy mountain.

She will tower

Among the black rocks

And glower,

Gushing flames and the waters of the grimy deep,

To pour

Forth the ending of the broken wheel.

Boulders slip and slide

Headlong into the steep

And narrow

Gorge below.


After a while,

In the quiet of the moon,

When the saw-whet owl cries

His silver note on the pine-dewed branch,

In the dawn of the delicate petal,

A new land will awaken,

Where flocks

Of red-winged blackbirds dance,

Among the cottonwood’s whistling leaves.


The swift-toed coyotes will sing,

Where the sage grows green after the storm,

Emerald lizards will trace

Elegant patterns in the sand,

And the awful dragon will curl up again,

Her crystal scales warm

In the sunlight, an endearing smile

On her dragonish face.


© Sharon St Joan, June 20, 2015


Photo: © Zuzana Randlova |


Spotted towhee


Spotted towhee

On a day,



As an unsettled fairy

Of the mountain,

Her hair

Caught in a half-done braid,

What do the shadows portend,


In the misted wind?

As light

Falls, the dragon

At the far end

Of the shale


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



On his wings,

And hop

From rock to silver rock, wise,

And undismayed.

And beyond, before the sun

Can rise,

Rings of rain


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