Poetry

 

 

Hallowed, Old Kinsman c. 1994

 

When twisted ivy climbs high around stone,

And begins to whither in the hands of the moon,

Time is riding on and things begin to change,

The Autumn sky shines indigo and falls in indigo rains.

These droplets run and drop down the hazy crimson leaves,

And fall onto the face of this mystic, haunting eve.

A cat, black as sack cloth, dances on a fence post,

While wolven howls echo in the hollowed-out coves.

The rain dances with swirling sand-dust gyres,

And black mountains glow bright with burning fires.

Night falls on the backs of the oaks,

And the pale-leafed trees are misted with smoke.

It is then that I call my hidden night children.

Out from the shreds of ivy still left,

From the fenceposts and black coves at rest,

Down from the pyres and the high burning mountains,

From the oaks that smoke and moon-paled rain fountains,

I call them to me, the hallowed, old kinsman. 

 

 

Rooftops 1996

 

Snowy rooftops glisten blue

The moon sings a winter song.

The night's matron glistens on the crystal lawn.

 

Though you can't stay too long

the tapster welcomes you.

Ramble in the mellow room and sing a tune. 

 

Covered in snow

it melts by the fire

sip a tea cup

and I'll strum the lyre.

 

Many travelers come here

When the moon shines on rooftops.

When the snow is on the front step of the shop.

 

When the snow finally stops

You'll be on your way there

Where the moonlight glows on the snow in your hair.

 

Covered in fire's

light by the cold mug

Travelers gone

Melted snow on the rug.

 

Lonely is the mellow room

The land is in the new spring

Intoxicated by the new moon, they sing.

 

A New song comes now to ring

In the ears of lonely fire's

And now there are no more songs for the wood lyre.

 

Covered in spring,

Sit in mellow rooms

Dream of winter

The absence of gloom.  

 

Sun-God Children 1997

 

One morning I saw life.

The mountains were on fire.

The smoke from the dew

rose into the clouds.

Leaves danced like sun-god childen,

running across the field

in scores, towards me. 

Their mother, the wind

showered me with spores

and dandelion glances.

I sat in a golden clearing,

carpeted with yellow leaves in the sun,

watching the blue sky sparkle 

with the glistening

sun-god's children.

1st Place

Brevard College Literature Contest

1997

 

 

 

Selbstbild (Self Portrait) 1999

 

The morning:

Silken twists of pallid light

reach through the curtains

and held his face

until his eyes flashed awareness.

 

The wayside yielded to the hues of spring.

His eyes drawing close

to those ultraviolet blooms.

He drank in the transient oak.

Leaning and bent, 

under its burdensome age. 

 

Before him manifests the spirit

of a wild horse.

Its silver waters move the earth.

Its mane sparkling with micah flakes.

The sunlight held him

and filled his soul.

 

The Night:

So many things to feel.

The moon

casts its gaze upon him.

 

 

 

© 2020 David W Cobb

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