Tuesday, February 24, 2015
What Can’t Be Seen
After sunset I walk under spruce boughs,
looking for the owl the others saw midday.
Huge, they said, it took up so much being,
so much heartspan in the air. Whoo whoo,
I move toward it, no moon or stars,
my way snow-lit.
Above the branches foxed in blacker
than the sky, I hope to see its ears
in silhouette, the shoulder-shrug of wings.
Whoo, whoo, louder now, then nothing.
It seems just in front of me and high.
Beneath the trees, I stand inside
my many years, inside the owl’s
deep hearing— it’s hush, my hush,
circling out and out and touching
our grey heads. Let this be
the what-I-don’t-see I die with,
this feathered, thick-lapped
listening of the night.
by Lorna Crozier | Artwork by Alexandra Khitrova
Monday, October 20, 2014
~*i am autumn.....
~gliding upon solstice dance floors,
tripping the light fantastic with
dapper breezes dressed in grey
tinting emerald faces to
and spilling golden hues upon
~stealing at midnight
across pumpkin smiles,
brushing them with
while painting icy fractals
upon un-expecting window panes...
~lending tartness to apple delights
that dangle in trees fully ripe,
yearning to become warm cider..
~erasing crimson petals from
roses that that fall...
....hushed...to garden floors,
bees still seeking their
last sweet kiss of death...
~stroking the horizon with
artistic brush, dipped in ocean's
...allowing october's sky
to give birth to a golden
~leaving forgotten feathered beds,
mourning doves escape upon
updrafts of cordial southern wind
~tucking spent butterflies gently
into chrysalis blankets,
lulling them into dream-filled
slumber of winter.
~spreading earth's bountiful seeds..
..maize, dried in butter-colored
nuggets for crow's delight...
....maple-seed spinners, plummeting
to mate with soil....
...as spores rush to become
..i am autumn...
Copyright Margaret LaVonne Hall
All rights reserved...