Thursday, April 26, 2018

Blood Of Summer

Blonde sun in a blue-eyed sky.
Long legged days stretched
from neck deep
to night's full abandon -
consummated by stars.

The earth spins
towards the moon's touch;
the crescent
shining tongue kiss
on the throat of a river -
warm as a willing girl.

But I
have the taste of mud in my mouth.
The form of a man, of woman, of hound.
I killed fire with spit
and spread the ashes around
where I stood
in the blood
of summer.

Black sun in a sky of ice.
Days
lock jawed and trap snapped -
time is a fiction
stars tell to children.

The earth slumps at the corner bar,
her spin spent -
in her glass,
the last of her rivers.
Rare
as girls.

And I
have the taste of worlds in my mouth.
The form of a man, a woman; I howl
to kill fire with will and spread the ashes around
where I stood
in the blood
of summer.

A bit late and rough for Midweek Motif at Poets United

4 comments:

Susan said...

Never too late. At Poets United, I mean. Your poem fires and slays me! Blood can create fertile moments, and earth could use a transfusion. I wish that could be served up at the bar instead of what is. Mud /words / creation! Where is our power?

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Wow! Worth waiting for,kiddo. I love that opening, the blue-eyed sky. Then, so powerful, the dark.

Magical Mystical Teacher said...

The speaker is definitely a rough one, but s/he spits out some pretty powerful imagery.

Fireblossom said...

You can't stop time and you can't burn everything. The stars will turn and the Mother Earth will pull herself together, no matter the forces arrayed against her. Blood still pulses, even when it feels stopped. Or such is my reaction.