Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Wind

The wind lifts me--
cold mother of smooth white skin...
in her arms and at her breast, I become once again
her darkling child with feathers of rhyme.

I scream,
but my scream
is one of joy--

and my talons
flex and



Far Beyond The Ridge said...

The scream of the hawk, to most it seems terror.
But to me~joy
And for just the reason you so aptly disclosed.

Mary said...

What a wonderful relationship the hawk has with the wind!

Shadow said...

fly where your heart desires...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I love "her darkling child with feathers of rhyme". Beautiful.

Buddah Moskowitz said...

I love these defiant declarations of self. They are inspiring.

Helen said...

Your autobiography ... perfectly penned.

hedgewitch said...

So much packed into this one, but economy of phrasing only adds to the intensity of the images...both your talons and your dark, glossy feathers of rhyme are shining here.

TexWisGirl said...

i like!

Mama Zen said...

"darkling child with feathers of rhyme."


Mary Jane Bane said...


Anonymous said...

Oh good golly. What a metaphor for the woman you love!

"cold mother of smooth white skin"
Sometimes coldness is all that sustains you.

"I become once again"
I see why you love her. She brings you into existence when you thought you had died.

"her darkling child"
Indeed. There is something uniquely exhilarating about an adoptive mother ... especially for a black bird.

"feathers of rhyme"
Perfect for such a beautiful poet. These are exactly the feathers you were meant to flaunt.

Gorgeous and intriguing.

Anonymous said...

"cold mother of smooth white skin..."


LOVE this!

Anonymous said...

"cold mother of smooth white skin..."


LOVE this!