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
TheFeatheredSleep 
❤️
The mood of this reminds me of some of the dreams I’ve been having lately. There’s a stark surrealism in these words, in the mood… beautifully put together, Candice.
Marvelous Candice, hope you are doing ok. Hugs
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 🙂
Your usual wonderful imagery
I agree this seems like a dream. The line about the green dusk was funny timing because I’m looking out a window of green now in the morning, but it’s kind of murky–like underwater.
‘Mutual diet of shame’ is an outstanding line.
So visual. Like a painting. 💜
So beautiful in descriptions. Reminds me of the pieces i have written about nature and nymphs and the spirit of water and woods. I love this, My Beauty! ❤
You ‘write nymphs’ like nobody else!
Dearest Meghan, Thank you so much both for reading this and commenting, it is very appreciated. Sorry for the late reply I have been feeling a little under the weather. Thank you again!
Dear Jade, Thank you so much both for reading this and commenting, it is very appreciated. Sorry for the late reply I have been feeling a little under the weather. Thank you again!
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
Dearest Thank you so much both for reading this and commenting, it is very appreciated. Sorry for the late reply I have been feeling a little under the weather. Thank you again! Derrick,
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
Dear manuel, Thank you so much both for reading this and commenting, it is very appreciated. Sorry for the late reply I have been feeling a little under the weather. Thank you again!
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.
I do hope you are better now X
Thank you, Sword Sister. ❤
♡
Sorry you’re not feeling well. Hope you recover quickly!
Quite captivated by
“To churning sea the color of fingers stained mauve/
By what we pick
And bring to our mouth
In hunger”
I worry that I am back to eating pain and spitting out kindness like watermelon seeds
Your lines are better! Write it! Beautiful words.
Thank you lovely one!♡
I sincerely hope you feel better soon
Thank you beautiful girl♡
Aww–thanks, Candice. Dreamscapes are cool. 🙂
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. 🌸💕
I wondered about the loooong silence. So, so very sorry to hear you have been sick 😦 DO write when you have the energy. Sending you a TONNE of *love and healing* xxxxx
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
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.