Questing

Questing

I sail on a ship in a far sea

            and my eyes are gold,

gold as the daughters of Hecate

            who follow the Hounds of Bran.

I am searching for a little flower,

            a little purple, reddened flower,

and a greening grave, mounded with stone and earth.

My boat is a cockleshell, golden and green,

            and I sing as I sail

            a new, sharp tune.

Silver flowers bloom out of my hair

I wear glass earrings, whistling in the wind.

I am on a quest for tomorrow’s yesterday

that one, sweet point

            where liquid sun and amythestine moon

                        kiss in a never-never world of night.

2-27-2006

(This is - was - my last poem. It was the latest I wrote, right around the time I finished undergrad. It was also the last, as I never felt the urge again. Guess I wrote out everything I had. Incidentally, I have no recollection of writing this, at all. When I found it, I googled it to make sure it was mine! I'm pretty sure it is...)

Summer evening--

Summer evening

bright white light filters through

a profusion of narrow green leaves

outside my window

flickering shadows on my face as

I dry my hair

a sudden swoop

a red cardinal

darts and lands on a

suddenly swaying branch

crimson feathers

translucent orange beak

stylish black trimming

he falls to the deck like a stone

and curves out under the railing

5/15/01

Sun glows--

the sun glows

i balance

on a chair and climb

into bed

the white walls

of my room

are quiet

we talk;

then...

“goodnight” she says

and is silent

i stare out the window

at the leaves

black blurs against

mellow gold

sunset

this is evening

i gaze at the white walls

and listen

to the hum of the air-conditioner

2/3/98

Spring morning--

Spring morning

the raindrops run cold races

down my neck

bare legs in the warm

humid air

brought out of a stiff cocoon

light as wind

I dance

in wet grass

and spin

chasing my own fingers

that stretch

spattered with mists

towards the gray sky

2/15/01