Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Tuesday, May 21, 2024

Birds At Dawn


Dawn mists shroud the preening swan
forever in her bridal gown
down near the shore where footsteps end
then floating out to mourn again

This is the pond where my true love drowned
never seen and never found
by water lilies twined and kept
in green and silent alphabet.

Dawn obscures the calling crow
forever dressed in black who goes
along the branch that holds the knot
and every cherished thing he's got

This is the tree where my true love fell
as gracefully as Pachelbel
a dancer to adagio
as far as woven strands dare go.

Dawn comes dim and damp in hours
just light enough for owl's eyes
that see the hidden bower nest,
where silent birds don't sermonize.

This is the hour when my true love comes
in melancholy misted dawn
to call me on and call me down
demanding his sine qua non. 


  1. A dreamlike feel to this, something that reflects a Waterhouse, for instance, with a sense of legend and myth. I absolutely love it, and the birds carrying such a shine of symbolism on their glossy wings couldn't be more light and airy and *right* in their sombre feathers. The references to long gone German composers, and the Latin tag are exactly the right details to underline the shadowy mood with depth and mystery. My favorite of your recent works.

  2. Dawn mist, mournful birds, a "hidden bower nest" -- all imagery that weave a lamentation and, as I read it, a reckoning of sorts for a death unavenged. Beautifully written, as always. Reading you is such a joy, Shay. You have that je ne sais quoi which is the sine qua non of poetry.

  3. I love this poem so much, the birds, the imagery, the rhyme. Just gorgeous. My new fave, too.

  4. I love this. Full of symbolism and imagery. A true word garden.

  5. Sublime, sublime, Ms. Poetry Maven. It sounds so good aloud. You are an artiste (said with a French accent).

  6. Mystical dawn comes and we never know what it brings and this mysticism is weaved all through this. Magical as always.

  7. The whole poem is a beautiful lamentation but I love this stanza especially:

    "This is the pond where my true love drowned
    never seen and never found
    by water lilies twined and kept
    in green and silent alphabet."


Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?