Showing posts with label Hey Diddle Diddle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hey Diddle Diddle. Show all posts

Thursday, January 30, 2025

The Crow Angel

 

Crow, I said,

that’s a stone in your beak,

not a seed.

 

But she didn’t stop

and kept tapping against the rock.

 

It split in two

and out came a parasite

which perched on her back.

 

It grew over time, over time, over time,

and crow bowed down

and died.

 

I lay on the bed

of her black feathers

and they turned white,

 

in my deepest January,

as snow fell,

lingering, drifting, layering,

 

while all burned up around me.

The feathered angel-kiss kept me

cold, safe and numb.

 

Arrows swarmed the air—

hissing, a warring beast

took aim, fired—

 

and then Thor’s arms came

and I flew

burning like a phoenix—

 

the foul dart,

pulled

from my back,

 

crushed in my taloned hand,

 

fell in fire, sulfur,

 

sand.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

In Your Deepest January at What’s Going On?

 

Monday, August 26, 2013

Snowball's Chance

I Follow the Wind - by Judith Clay


By
a
thin thread
I hang on
chasing your wild wind,
risking all for a house of cards.


© 2013 Jennifer Wagner


A Fibonacci poem for Hedgewitch’s Weekend Mini-Challenge at IGWRT and for dVerse Poetics where Claudia has provided us with an opportunity to write to the wonderful work of Judith Clay.  I’m too late for the link so I’ll be linking to OpenLinkNight.

Monday, February 25, 2013

Sandmorphs of the Amethyst Moon



The watchful eye of the bleeding heart moon
turned amethyst,

her vellum glowed in its gaze—
a canvas for creatures of prey.

Black sand morphed white on her toes,
confectioners’ sugar

to said creatures
making them voraciously bay.

Storm clouds rained dirt
for moments turned years

while she learned to make bloodcastles
with hellbowls of tears.

Sorry for what they’d done,
treacherous birds of root

flew from her tormented refrain
to nest and to watch from beaches of soot.

A pièce de résistance complete
in its unfinishing,

thus, she set off to hunt prey of her own.
She tortured a few, but could kill only time,

true more to herself than a rule.
She’d only been waiting on setting cement,

and Prince Charming’s repent
for having left her alone in the light of such an encouraging moon.


Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Linking up to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for Open Link Monday and OpenLinkNight at dVerse Poets Pub.