the cow pond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the blue gray fog an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness
a face staring backwards & forwards in the blue gray frozen fog thru the willow thru the cloud of juncos & sparrows & the sagebrush breaking thru the snow on the round hill eastward
the rocks white the willow’s long hair black the poplars skeletal
a face staring backwards & forwards in a cloudy mirror & the mule deer outside the window leaping the barbed wire without any effort the dazzling flight of a magpie subdued in the freezing mist & white air
the chill is a teardrop mandolin tremoloed in its icy throat on a high octave E & the crow’s bitter snow is a chill in the heart muscle a contraction
tho the air is blue & gray & opaque & the ridge to the east has sunk below this sea of fog with its frosty water droplets distributing chill to the lungs
the cowpond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the owl on the wing over the skeletal grape vines the owl appearing to me each night its face a white fog of feathers its wings knifing silently thru the white air soaring south
& the road is white with ice a frozen current swerving south without moving
a face staring in every cardinal direction seeing the white air the willow’s long black hair streaked white with hoarfrost
a rheumatic shoulder the lungs an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness the heart contracting its owl's wings in the white white air
a face staring into a blue gray frozen ocean stitched with barbed wire without a horizon
is it a new day
John Hayes
© 2010
[You can also check out my San Francisco poems on The Days of Wine & Roses—a new post each Sunday]
The first line reminded me of a winter walk I once went on on the Kinder Scout plateau. It was frozen and snow covered. It was as surreal as your poems. We saw all sorts of strange things. A winter-coated white hare (unusual to see round here). A low tunnel disappearing into a mound of peat, steaming water trickling out of it. Wonderful ice-patterns close to the strangely named "Kinder Gates" (2 natural monoliths that stand either side of the meandering ("scouting")river Kinder -more like a stream, a trickle- in the middle of the plateau. It's a magical place.
ReplyDeleteThe photo could almost have been taken here.
Hi Dominic: Very interesting to see that landscape--it is stark indeed, & I can intuit its magical presence--good pix at that link. Thanks for stopping by!
ReplyDeleteSpectacular photo and a poem to match! Thanks.
ReplyDeleteHi K: Thanks! Glad you liked these.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, John. Of course, the line that jumped out at me was, "the rocks white the willow’s long hair black the poplars skeletal". It was 7 degrees here when I woke up this morning. Brr.
ReplyDeleteHi Willow: Ah yes, the willow that grows outside my office window--it makes it into almost everything! 7 degrees is cold. Glad you liked this.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful imagery, John. Certainly depicts the day.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Karen!
ReplyDeleteI love the way you animate the natural world. The exhaling with lungs and the miasma—as if the earth were sighing and resigned at what must be. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteHi Kat: I do see the world as having being, tho I recognize that we each animate it in our own way as well. Glad you liked this!
ReplyDelete