Spellbound

 My new book, available on Amazon:

Spellbound: Tanka Spells & Blessings

Evensong

butterflies flutter 

from the artist’s brush

in memoriam—

a river of monarchs

once flowed across the sky

slow spirals

up the summer sky—

scavengers

cleansing my mind

of its dark residue

I follow a path

of spindrift oak leaves

to a clearing

where no cabin ever stood—

its hidden hearth my home 

the day

closes its circle

around me

silver voices 

re-enchant the dusk

to keep at bay

the wolfish dreams,

I sleep

with gentle sorrow

cradled in my arms

~red lights 15:2, June, 2019

Gossamer

the thinning

of the leaf-green veil

at Samhain

the colors of another world

break through

hummocks

of golden grass

let loose

a volley of birds . . .

thoughts tumbling skyward

one white stone

plucked from the gravel—

again and again

I toss it into the blue

to catch its fleeting gleam

the lines 

of a poem I’ve yet to write

tangled

in the silver ribbons

of a lost balloon

splitting 

the silver milkweed pod,

Pandora lets loose 

upon the autumn earth

a raft of spindrift wishes

~Skylark 4:1, summer 2016

canticle

driven

by shifting winds

a crow

with white-barred wings . . .

my yearning for omens

who am I

to lose what little 

faith I ever had . . .

the redbird still sings 

in the apple tree

leaf shadows

shimmer and pulse

on an orb web

shining in morning light—

the clerestory of my mind

she flees

along a silken thread

to lie hidden

in the curve of a leaf,

whoever wove this world

the song

of  blade on whetstone

as the meadow 

falls to the scythe . . .

nunc dimittis

~Skylark 6:1, summer 2018

Harbingers

a trickle

in the long-dry creek . . .

chorus frogs

piping a memory

into the heart of winter

I fell under an enchantment when I was only a small child. The sun warm on the back of my neck, I would stand stock-still at the edge of a marsh, waiting for the voices to begin. I heard them first in the distance—one, two, then more and more until they merged into a sound like a million silver sleigh bells.  Even when a voice pealed out right at the toe of my boot, I could not spot one singer hidden in the reeds.

still seeking

what I cannot see—

a mystery

haunts the marshes

of a wayfaring mind

Half a century later and halfway round the globe, 25 new species of frogs have been discovered on Mount Oku in central Africa.  But as fast as their voices are heard, some fall forever silent.  Nearly half of Mount Oku’s amphibians are threatened with extinction as people cut the forests and poison the water . . . as the climate heats up and diseases spread.

found and lost

in the space of a song

the spells

of an unknown weaver

undone by hexing hands

~Skylark 5:2, Winter 2017

the streambank

another death . . .

I follow a path

thick with oak leaves

turning into soil,

nourishing the roots

rose hips 

and holly berries 

glistening 

in deep green hedgerows

winter quickens its wings

the brook

vanishes beneath the earth

to rise again

in a spatter of bluets 

. . .  this runnel of hope

~Ribbons 12:2, spring/summer 2016

trees in winter

filaments of snow 

       drifting sideways 

                 on the wind--        

                            old pines 

                                     shed their ghosts

                                                                     

                                    ~tinywords 17.1, 2017

the oak stands

stripped to its bare bones

half the year—

I lay my naked words

in homage at its root

~Earth: Our Common Ground (2017)

beech leaves

clinging past midwinter

sing on the breeze

there is only the dance

of sunlight and shadow

~Ribbons 13:2, spring/summer 2017 

solstice fires

solstice fires

burn the old year’s dross

to ash . . .

the raven’s cry

like smoke on the wind

~red lights 13:2, June 2107

the galloping years

my mother’s voice

reciting The Highwayman

by moonlight

the gleam of a dark red love-knot,

the clatter of galloping years

~moonlight on water, 2016

poplar leaves

already freckled

with age

I pen an elegy

in elderberry ink

~Moonbathing 17, fall/winter 2017

finding I’ve shrunk

by an inch and a half . . .

yet the mountains

of my inner island

still converse with sky

~hedgerow 122, winter 2017-8