summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
She realized she had lost
something of herself along the way

(as we all do, as we all do----
there is nothing that is not eaten,
there is nothing that is not worn
ask the insect and the cordyseps)

and, looking for it, sadly, a little frantic
a little lost
the corpses buried in the garden came to flower
after all
their fragrant nodding blossoms rising all around her
bright and soft and humid---
what you found, they sing
look what you've planted
look what you've found.

And hey, looks like I made it through another year of this exercise, only slipping up by getting in late once. I feel as though I should mention that the bit about the corpses and the garden in this one is an homage to/riffing off of T.S. Eliot. Thanks for reading!
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Eilenor sang---

Oh you who sing out with wanting
proudly following your hunting dogs
into the bracken and the wild onion
with its purple blossoms,
into the morning air;
extend your hand to catch my heart then,
as it follows,
capering all around you like another dog---
you need no arrow, you need no word.

yesterday's poem is late (oops)---I slipped!
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
There are bones in the earth.
This soft soil gives up its husks,
and the stream will flow for some while yet
as the dry hills crawl with wildflowers.


Apr. 25th, 2016 08:23 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Cats, I would like to know
I found the remains
of a soft and fleshy
yellowish brown potato bug
upon the floor just now.
I would prefer---
Cats, cats
Perhaps it is better
not to know.

hound song

Apr. 24th, 2016 06:56 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Run with us:
run long-snouted, long-legged, effortless;
we do not need our history, our future; those are yours
we know only
this morning
this spring breath
these bodies
we run, we run
and you:
you run with us,
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Praise the forest's little slimy things.
Baby banana slugs nibbling tender sorrel
wet from last night's rain, fungus
fruiting joyfully.
The salamader pups resting in the stream
are getting larger.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Night falls full of little noises:
distant children, the cat purring
ducks quacking as they settle.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
I bought a hoodie from Japan
made with a pocket deep enough for a cat to sleep in,
because I thought that Magic, who is twenty-three,
might like it.
It has ears on the hood and paws on the hands and is
ridiculously cute
although not as soft as I had hoped.
I got it black to match her.
It took awhile to get here (I do not
live anywhere near Japan)
and I had worried that Magic might not live to see it come
but she is strong, this cat. She's fine, just
very, very old
and likes to purr while sitting in a lap,
in this case bedecked with a fuzzy cat pocket in a hoodie
from Japan. She snugs in. My frivolous purchase
is vindicated.

This small cat and I and all our years
in this amazing world:
we keep going.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Did you feel it, just now---
somewhere in the dark water, at first
just a bump you might have imagined
but then
a more definite touch, the caress of
wet silk over long, smooth muscle,
distinct slime---
A big catfish?
A very big catfish?
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Outside, the moon is high and quiet
illuminating the trees.
In here, the hopeful pattering
of paws across the floor
and an old cat's contented purr.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
this tiny forest orb-weaver
stretched her spiderling's first web between
these tender rose-tipped maple seeds---
her legs are translucent
and reflect the sky


Apr. 16th, 2016 07:19 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Joy could be a rockfish, watching carefully
from her place in stone,
for years and years and years;
joy could be a steelhead
flashing flickering upriver
or a shy guitarfish, on the seafloor
and then quickly hovering away.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
The baby hound who
sins against the law of countertops to steal
his person's bowl of home-made kimchee
("it would probably strip paint")
has served his snout its own ideal correction
by cabbages turned violent;
pain served upon a bed of rice.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Against a wide gray sky
tall with coming clouds in slate and storm
one mallard stretches, feathers
carved from dark, his webs extended
seeking ground.

duck poem

Apr. 13th, 2016 06:11 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Green grass
webbed feet
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
may like this shining mallard drake
you alight with splashing joy
in sparkling waters softened all around by tender-green
and thick with lilies
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Time has passed.
We have been somewhere
like this before, but still, not this place—-
these are different animals
we are different creatures, breathing
the same air,
we are not yet gone.


Apr. 9th, 2016 01:36 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Raindrops caressing
my upturned cheek
a duck’s feathers


Apr. 7th, 2016 09:40 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Turning, once again we come to center—-
the owl rising beneath a clear moon
the mallard winging upward into morning
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
would you take a sapphire from a coydog’s jaw—
when we drink from paw-prints, under moonlight
we will taste the morning, having sampled all that
came before—-
could we meet some times at the confluence
of rivers and of oceans
might we touch
might we run together
might we love


summer_jackel: (Default)

July 2017



RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 19th, 2017 11:41 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios