Living the Dream

There is a quiet concerto filing away
at the solitude of wintering trees,
sap beginning to stretch and yawn,
curled causes unfolding and blinking eyes
at the soft awakening with new sight.

Small red tips swell after a season’s coma
caused by flinging too many variegated veils
and sipping cold drinks that clenched
throat and drilled a nasty gnaw
they passed out on.

Subtle sway of new beginnings finds herself
needing a drink of water for a parched tongue
so she can begin to sing Spring.

Fiddler on sky-kissed roof, dances shingles
like Pan on a green grab of meadow,
and sprites waken from stiff muscled
deep dark sleep.  Oh, Spring hums heavy
on a heave of winter’s hangover.

Love listens and begins to wrap
warm arms around musician
and his hot music.

Tags: Natural Nuances, Poems by Shewolf
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He said:

Hard wind, barks at my back, but I am nonplussed.
Decisions are not easily come by, like new pets
or new women, or new clothes. These black rags
are not glad of this.  No, things should have mattered
more than this howling in a greedy wind.

It is a mild winter day, a day for contemplation
on a small walk down to slim boardwalk,
chunky bony-fingered dock leading out
to where a dive would be so easy to make;
arching, up into air that will not hold me,
any more than this earth, nor offer any softer
landing when I smack through plastic pretense of ice.

We said:

Something about, just walking off
edge of the world, away from snarling teeth
at our heels but never having the guts,
because someone would either get the credit
or the blame and it would never be the right person.

I said:

Knowing me, I would walk out and see beauty
and have to come back in and write
a damned poem about it.  By the time
it curled up on the paper next to me,
I would forget my first intent. 

We said:

When we do it, let’s hold hands, scuff snow
in growling faces and lolling tongued perpetrators
and maybe, when we get to the planks’ end,
it will be summer and god will have made the decision for us.
then we can come in, curl up on couch
and create silly poems about how human we are.

Tags: A Pack of Poets, Poems by Shewolf
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Come down from the mountain as Druids,
as dear shepherd prophets, Gods or goddesses,
but come bringing jars of jostling joy
to quench this thirst I have for knowing
love, dear love, come softly,
step upon down step, to where I lie
fading, like a flower in need of quenching.

Come down, from the light too bright,
or out of the shadows that swirl, hiding,
the face of faith’s bright moon from me. 
Talk tome in an ancient voice that lulls
the angst of tunnel-walking and wall-banging
because I have had no hands to guide me.

Come down, with your quiet power,
substance of solid bones and bent muscles
that will move me to follow you when you return.
These steps are long and tough to climb
Without knowing how easily you seeped
down from the mountain of your distress
to offer me hope in a clay chalice.

Tags: Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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Coping is a caution, I have found
for it is easy to deny the dearest damnit.
I’d had to understand the very ground
I find myself writhing on, the Calmat-
ty is to know which is truth and which is lie
I tell myself, that is the core to my demise.
I have to know my own reasons, however wry
for that which bends me, and be wise
about the choices, however crude,
that made me that which I do:  Survive!
Though some may think me rude
I am, nonetheless ever more alive.

I have sustained a thousand deep dark nights
through simply letting go and letting be.
I have learned when to accede and what fights
to fight, and which is best for simply me.
If god I know, is god that understands my fate,
t’is not for me to worry or to wonder
if others might deride or my choices oft’ berate,
for I am the ship that sails, or sinks asunder.

Coping is a sea, attracted to the tide.
Coping is a flower that turns to face a brand new sun.
Surrender is the beauty to which none can deride.
Volition is the beauty attached the all and knowing One.

Tags: Poems, Shhhhhh:A Creation Story by Shewolf
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A poem tickled the back of my eyelids,
Lifted up the lash lens I filter
Life through,
Seeped out onto paper
Where it made a heart of what I had seen.

Tags: Poems by Shewolf
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