Thursday, 7 March 2013


Although special, singing
has never been my forte:
I find it hard to feel for sound

and coalesce my heart and mind
with earth and fire without a crowd of
apparitions getting in the way.

But, yesterday, six of us drove out
to a raging riverbank in the frost
and sparked a little fire to dance and sing around

under blue sky. A dusky moon
lit up a warning light. Open mouthed,
carousing to a churning

water slap, we floated cares downstream
and harmonized a rich, brown god
who turns and never stops, as far as

I can tell. At the end, our fire roared with wind
into a start of silence.
                                                Back in
the kitchen, all talk stopped, all
bodies quiet: the moon, floating, somehow
in its blackness, chose to howl; to shine.

1 comment:

  1. John - a gift, a glimpse into your creative self. thank you.

    i launched a poetry blog you might enjoy the works in progress over there. Peace.