Monday, February 25, 2013

The Watcher

Window in Strasbourg, France

He makes music
in the dark,
his heart beats
to the rhythm of the moon
. . . its expressive face
lighting up his life
as he goes - -
the old farm hand
lost in the winter
with his cart
full of offal
dispensing castoffs . .
his weary frame
bends to retrieve
another treasure,
like gifts gleaming
in the darkness
as he guides his cart
over a crumpled road
. . . the sound
of music rises to
the stars
carrying his lonely tears
in the night
. . . like a wayward sigh. . .
the tinkle of trash
well received
by this who listen . .

In the morning
before the sun arises,
the souls of geese
. . . honking
in the inky stillness;
pools of darkness
bloom around the sliver
of a moon,
and I wish I were
the white moth
rising through the
dewy air
reaching for the apex
of the moon
where fluttery
kisses will wake
his sleepy eye . .
and the cheer-up
morning song
of robins
echo in the sunrise . . . beckon
angels to tread
through wisps of breezes

I see you as you
walk towards me
your silhouette as black
as a hole in existence . .
The steam from your breath
rises to meet
the mist from the melting frost
rising like ghosts
to dance before the low
winter sun .. . .

White wolf
dreams in the shadows
of times long past
before the bite
of metal
and barriers
to her passing . . . 
her golden eyes
to lighten the world
and her breath smokes
through cherry blossom
the sun setting the
mists aglow
the flames touching
the cheeks
of the watcher . ..


GingerTom said...

Ah, something as simple as shop windows. I miss shop windows. Most of the stores have them covered over now with a large poster or bricked up. Shame...

Thanks for the pictures and the poems.

Wolfsong said...

You're welcome and thank you G.T. . . I'm glad you enjoy the windows . . I'm a big fan of windows and tend to take a lot of picts of them. Thanks for the comment!