Rumbling down corridor
Westerly to East,
snuffling winter snort of Winter
comes pounding, so softly
it takes ear to sky
eye to ground
to notice.
Food, feathering up and over
ripened ridges of highest mounts,
for thought, for soul,
longing for feast of future;
embracing slant-down
withered world,
surrounding tired warriors
with garment of good.
Instead of stopping by,
they pass, leaving but a breath
of whisper to follow
to old grounds, to old ways,
to gain red ground, yellow soil,
black sod, white roll of drifted
chill, if we do not track them.
I long for “Now”, for nearness,
for Universal spin causes grounding
that sticks my feet to pavement;
hands, grasping at green sheaves,
hang useless, when they should raise,
like bough to bend of horizon.
Heart echoes padded hooves,
and I am drawn forward,
one frail fetal beat
at a time.
Author notes
jpg provided by contest holder
Please comment on this poem at
http://www.shewolfnative2.com
In a list
A contest entry
- Herd Come Home by kaibab.
1450 points, ended December 19, 2008, 10 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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Beautiful~
Love the feel that my veins soaked up to knowing what alive is within words weaved
Excellent take on the prompt~
Magnificent Voice echoed off these pages~
Bravo!!
Woot
These lines of many grabbed
hands, grasping at green sheaves,
hang useless, when they should raise,
like bough to bend of horizon.
Congratulations on Your Trophy win!
-Throws confetti-
Woooooooooo Hoooooooooooo
Thank You for sharing Your Heart and Spirit~
Many blessings to You in all You do Sweet One
Best wishes too
with much love & light~ Desire~*~
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This reverberates
Somehow, I'm transported, by these ghosts, to a bent sort of time where the needed de-evolution
seems possible.
In stanza two, we are reminded that that which feeds the body can, and must, feed the spirit. That even meat, especially meat, is magic, that spirit may be consumed as flesh.
In stanza six, the urban denizen is given that distant connection, so sorely missing.
Finally, in that last stanza, the heartbeat, the tides, the drum, the hoofbeats of the herd, set the rhythm for our dance into an uncertain future with a sort of holy and universal set of breadcrumbs for those who've not yet seen the trail back.
Congrats on a richly deserved award, and thanks for this glimpse of that ghost-herd.
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Ty, Rob, for this great comment and for following over to my site and commenting there. I wish to give credit to my poetic friends, and that place is just such a venue.
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Your cry shall be the swollen wind,
the ancient sounds when earth did thunder
hooves in common, grazing green in to season spin
baring calf to grow in wonder.
We are our mother's eyes and ears,
what we hear was music calling love,
that amazing time when evening clears
to heaven's open secret star, above.
I love this...thanks
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As always, your comments stir me, stir that within that wishes to give language to itself.
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This is very tribal in its rhythm, in its vibrant
connections to earth. I envisioned each wording and felt the tides of feeling that swelled as colours before them. Blessings, Blue
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Thank you, Blue Rew. A great deal of many "What ifs..." and "If Onlies.." But, living with the first thought being that I am connected... that is what is important to me.
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"Heart echoes padded hooves,
and I am drawn forward,
one frail fetal beat
at a time"
Magnificent. It is reminiscent of the ancestors.
Bravo!
Marianne
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Thank you, Providence. If I am authentic, this is very much how I feel. If I get the rabble and gabble out of my head and focus, intently, with a true heart, I knwo them to rumble yet.
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Well I wanted to put on the Dances with Wolves music as I read this for the aching loneliness and how things we loved to see disappear in our faces when the wind is too strong to keep us still. Beautiful poetry C
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Ty C. I appreciate your comments and your poetic friendship and kinship.
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"surrounding tired warriors
with garment of good."
There is so much that can be felt, said about, interpreted, considered, imagined & inspired by in just these two single lines, let alone the entirety of this wonderful penning, my dear Friend. This is such fertile ground, this piece. Reminds me of someone's soul I'm kinda familiar with. 
As always, intriguing, intuitive, instinctive, impeccable writing, Sweetie. Good luck in Rich's contest. I hope I'm able to come up with something for him, too, but I dunno. Kinda tough these days, like jerky. Ooohhh, now I want some. Love you, you skilled Scribe, you.
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And I love you as well. You know, I know, you know......
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