Nightbird

It calls with a clear

two-fingered whistle;

how a neighbor summons children

home for summer supper. 

Unabashed wooing.  

A lark?  Or Cherokee mother

clothed in twilight sadness,

blade of grass pressed in her lips.

Run.  Feel night-cooled meadow

under sunburned feet.

Find the moth-specked porch lamp,

the scent of belonging.

Without the chatter of song birds,

it seems human in the dark.  Urgent.

Should I leave by back door or front?
Persistent pipe.  O! Come.

tk/June 2015

Beautiful read by R.A.D. ...

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*A Midsummer Night's Melancholy by Michael Sowa

Vorfreude

Divine darkness comes

as you leave to find sleep,

black wings cover me.

What did moths bump into

before there were light bulbs?

How did I exist before your eyes?

Flutter morning awake;

frighten me just a little

with your estuary,

the sound of oars

drawing me from the shore,

church bells in the distance.

Take me out far enough

to feel the wind in my hair.

Give me an excuse to hide,

tuck some hallelujah,

let it burn a hole in my pocket.

I dare not sin against hope.

tk/November 2013

Vorfreude (n.)  The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures


I could listen to R.A.D. Stainforth say "church bells" all day...

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Chrysalis

Shadows settle brown-eyed,

The Moth and the Lamp, Cesar Santos 

warm-palmed;

cocoon discarded

in yesterday's cobweb.

Remove the horn-rims,

inherit the bookish gaze,

the soft porch bulb

of a summer night.

Watch the onslaught

of the pink moon,

breathe star-scattered

through the silent spots.

The mottled skirt

holds brunette blood;

unlike the skittish sister,

who butterflies sunshine like toast.

tk/September 2013 

Many thanks to the talented  R.A.D. Stainforth, for reading this poem.