Could that tilted silver curve
slice the night sky's silk to a perfect circle
and let the cosmos pour out?
Certainly it is laser-luminous, a saber's smile,
but sense a gentleness, a decorative rhinestone pin
against an endless breast of nostalgic black velvet
to place a head just beneath.
Rest to this lullaby in that softness forming warmth
covering dreams until morning.
Now, waking bird sings to bird,
let's see what the new blue sky brings.
Fight the dread and disquieting you who traverse to work.
Yes, wind licks the slickness of black ice,
burnishing the onyx to reflect the heavens as a face.
Yes, the wind's been an insistent precursor
of cabin fever's maddening claustrophobia
pushing in inner space so that the outer dark
drifts and deepens its whistling howls
that crack roofs, walls, ceilings,
that bangs and bangs tree limbs
to become the heaving ice mammoths
which fog windows
with their breath.
To remember the moon's silver then
would be a godsend new as a buried memory of survival
against stark-raving desolation.
Been through this, been through this
is the relieving chant of calm again
suddenly pure as a bright rope
reaching towards a well's bottom.
Take hold, climb, float for spring opens
from February's ambivalence,
the last sap snows falling every other day
to melt just as quickly as temperatures rise
from the morning ice to a longer lightening all around.
Twittering in bushes pushing slow buds towards tips,
the birds are signaling to each other
that yes they have made it, prepare for business,
the time for building jubilation, moon-full and fat,
is about to commence. Aching fingers ready yourselves.
Green thaw is at hand.
Author Bio:
Resident Artist & Curator for the online Chroma Museum, artistic representations of LGBTQI persons and organizations predominantly before Stonewall, Stephen Mead has been a published outsider artist/writer going on thirty years now. He is immensely grateful to the myriad publications who have presented his work over this time span, and given his need to create a voice of support. Recently he has had work published in The Pinecone Review and Neologism Poetry Journal.
slice the night sky's silk to a perfect circle
and let the cosmos pour out?
Certainly it is laser-luminous, a saber's smile,
but sense a gentleness, a decorative rhinestone pin
against an endless breast of nostalgic black velvet
to place a head just beneath.
Rest to this lullaby in that softness forming warmth
covering dreams until morning.
Now, waking bird sings to bird,
let's see what the new blue sky brings.
Fight the dread and disquieting you who traverse to work.
Yes, wind licks the slickness of black ice,
burnishing the onyx to reflect the heavens as a face.
Yes, the wind's been an insistent precursor
of cabin fever's maddening claustrophobia
pushing in inner space so that the outer dark
drifts and deepens its whistling howls
that crack roofs, walls, ceilings,
that bangs and bangs tree limbs
to become the heaving ice mammoths
which fog windows
with their breath.
To remember the moon's silver then
would be a godsend new as a buried memory of survival
against stark-raving desolation.
Been through this, been through this
is the relieving chant of calm again
suddenly pure as a bright rope
reaching towards a well's bottom.
Take hold, climb, float for spring opens
from February's ambivalence,
the last sap snows falling every other day
to melt just as quickly as temperatures rise
from the morning ice to a longer lightening all around.
Twittering in bushes pushing slow buds towards tips,
the birds are signaling to each other
that yes they have made it, prepare for business,
the time for building jubilation, moon-full and fat,
is about to commence. Aching fingers ready yourselves.
Green thaw is at hand.
Author Bio:
Resident Artist & Curator for the online Chroma Museum, artistic representations of LGBTQI persons and organizations predominantly before Stonewall, Stephen Mead has been a published outsider artist/writer going on thirty years now. He is immensely grateful to the myriad publications who have presented his work over this time span, and given his need to create a voice of support. Recently he has had work published in The Pinecone Review and Neologism Poetry Journal.
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