Crave

Hear the bell

Clear in chill

Mist surround

Accent mute
Hear the familiar click

Of a sore jaw
Hear the woolen draw

Of curtains

Closing in profession

Of days and acacia 
Feel green dusk play with fading light

See unidentified birds in last flight

Touch the cool solace of wood

A solidity of four walls
They treat the same

mutual diet of shame

beyond them wind purports to gather sound in tight bouquet
And crags of darkening stone

Lower their Norwegian profiles out

To churning sea the color of fingers stained mauve

By what we pick 

And bring to our mouth

In hunger

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31 thoughts on “Crave

    1. Thank you so much lovely Betty. Sorry to write back late I have been a little under the weather, a stomach bug I think. I hope you are holding up. I have been thinking of you and you are in my non-linear (!) prayers every night. Meanwhile I agree, it’s a dreamscape definitely I think fever dreams. My friend Jane who is a superb poet (if you see her on WP friend her, she’s so worth it) often has Migraine poems which are incredible. Funny how pain or suffering or shifting can produce this. So much sense really though. Thank you dear one.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Candice, I’m sorry to hear you’ve got a bug! Please feel better soon, my friend, and don’t ever worry about being slow to write back. Sometimes my back pain keeps me off WP for days or longer. Will try to find your friend Jane. And you take care! I’ll be thinking of you. 🌸💕

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Hunger makes people do strange things. Here in Adelaide, we are having a cold winter and many (men in particular) are sleeping rough. So sad. We try to provide some level of sustenance and warmth but it is a mere drop that soaks into an ocean of nothingness when compared to the need of the many going without 😦 Your poem took me into a totally different direction – isn’t that the wonder of the creative arts. It’s all in the eye of the beholder 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Of course I read this before going to bed and thought of it all night as you do dwell in my unconscious nearly all of the time. So much I want to tell you … I agree a poem can do that and it’s a wonder because it’s really neither my poem but yours now for that reason. It is awful when it gets cold and the homeless have no shelter. It is the reverse here, many die of over-heating but I know you get that too. I must write you an email I have so much to tell you but I have been sick so I haven’t been up to it I will though xx

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Dearest Merrill, the other day I was angered all over again after reading about rape on campus and thought of your book and what you said the other day about your daughter and how she said ‘I learned this from my mom’ I think everyone should have a mom like yourself, who teaches them to be a person worth inhabiting this earth. Bravo my friend. I love it when skies are green.You are so right, I’m absolutely doing the dreamscape xo

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  2. You’re back! I’ve been away from WordPress for a while, and it’s so lovely to read your words again. I’m sorry you’re under the weather. Thanks for sharing this haunting poem. I can never identify the birds, and was just joking with a friend (who has a laminated pamphlet of back-yard birds) that knowing the birds is a sure sign of middle-age. I’m glad you didn’t identify them for this dreamscape; it made the poem somehow more real to me.

    Like

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