Buffalo and Wolf

The buffalo
the wolves

reintroduced
says Man

but we do not
control

the hoofbeats
of the past

which beat again
in red hearts.

We only listen

to the rivers cry
for salmon

we only listen

to the cry
in our blood.

The pounding of bear
shakes
the forest of
our dreams
as great paws run
through them.

We only listen

as the buffalo hoof
presses into the mud

and the wolf-heart
howls
at the
white and ancient
moon.

Blue Boy

Maybe it’s because
he reminds me
of something
I lost.

Maybe there was
a new boy
blue boy
I held to
my heart
and he held
me

maybe
that happened
in the midnight
moonlight
one night

and it was
the most I’ve
ever seen

of the colour
of night.

Now the dark
has deepened
and hid the moon

and I’m left
with the absence
of blue.

A simple poem- I hope readers enjoy it – a midnight sort of poem.

Blackberry Queen

I am a

strange queen
in a blackberry
robe torn
by thorns.


Seaweed
tresses
ribbon
my hair
and I am
crowned
by the setting sun
in a tree throne.


Laughing light
dances on
the river
-diamonds
no rich man
could buy.


I am charmed
by wildflowers
growing unlooked for
between trees
and I reject
the colors
of court.


They say
I am a
queen
without her
people


but I am your queen,
yours


and if all the land
were dry
I would make
it rain.


This poem is in honour of the Glynn Queen series- I have read Queen of the Tearling and The Invasion of the Tearling by Erika Johansen and thoroughly enjoyed them.

Owl Owl

Owl owl

soft in the sky
your white
strength
flies dark
wisdom
in your
infinite eyes.
You drift
a dandelion
white
as I
rooted to the
ground
know flight
in your
curling arcs
wings delight
Could I fly
with you
and leave
an empty wake?
Could we fly
until morning
without a trace?

The White Hare

Landing
a rabbit
lonely in
the snow.

He doesn’t know
I love his
thin-tipped antennae ears
his moon-puff of tail
and the trembling
elegance
of his whiskers.

His hind legs shoot
a powerful leap
-he disappears
white against white

the wind must have
caught my scent

was he glad
to have been noticed
(just a little?)

or was
the color
of love
turned to
black fear
in all his white
solitude?

I wrote this last year, and have recently dusted it off. I unfortunately have never seen an arctic hare, but was glad to meet one in this poem. I imagine they are just like that, moon-tail and all.