Dziado

I rarely write about my poems....

I believe the persons reading them have a right to interpret poems in individual ways. I certainly know what my poems mean to me but that does not mean that you should try to see it my way.  Everything I write is meant to be “seen” by the reader through their lens.  It’s not really about what I meant.  It’s about what it means to you.  I think it is quite wonderful to throw my words out into the world. I love that once they free of me, you might read them and perceive them in ways I cannot even fathom.  So, thank you for reading a few of my poems and interpreting them as you see fit.   

If you find yourself with questions, have feedback about a poem, or wish to offer a suggestion for a future poem this is my invitation please don’t be afraid to reach out.

Image source: Personal work inspired by the Vastra-Haran housed in the National Museum New Delhi

River Bathing

Bathing women are both vulnerable and dangerous Clothes undefended on the shore Bodies unfurling among the reeds.

Source: Palimpsest by Dale Dunning

Your Face

It’s difficult (you must know) to deny things so clearly spoken without words

in silence you say everything the curve of your mouth the eyes that do not

quite meet me

and when your mouth is finally open

i can still see the truth in you typeset across your face.

Source: calmerra Image Credit: Foxes, circa 1913 by Franz Marc Medium: Oil on canvas 87 x 65 cm

Foxes

The woods behind the house are deep Dark tangles of brush Damp Loam soft under feet

This is where the foxes go in the morning After prowling along my borders Teasing my chickens All through the night

I have a sturdy hen house

The chickens are safe

Besides

The foxes are sleeping now Somewhere in the wild wood.

-Skye

Source: elzamine

Life’s Detritus

Mundane bits of life’s detritus Collected and pressed In a leather-bound book

Bits of butterfly wings Flowers of spring Flowers of high summer A seed or two for good measure

Carefully preserved To revisit later In the twilight When one pulls the bits of one’s Life together Into one last story.

-Skye

Eden

Eden is down the road from here just beyond the last row house one step into the cow pasture through the hedge

No one plucks these fruit the red hidden in the messy wild branches the skin with rough brown spots

People pick apples waxed shiny smooth from well lit shelves

Mesmerized by their reflection staring out of rosy skin

I am reclined under branches colored in the sun   that flows through scraggly leaves

Sour imperfect fruits tempting me into sins

Long forgotten

-Skye

Wild Apples…

‘The Fruits of the Earth’ (1911) watercolor by Edward J. Detmold Published in ‘The International Studio’ magazine vol. XLII From the Article “A Note on Mr. Edward J. Detmold’s Drawings and Etchings of Animal Life”

This is Wyoming 

The barbed fence undulates into the horizon The long rollers of the deep old sea feathered with grass Dotted with pronghorn and ghosts of buffalo

Capped in bright sky

The great plain The red car zipping Through the simmering tar

The woman almost 50 The woman bright and lively after 70

Talk rolls back and forth

Some thunder

There have always been hard lines Etched in old oceans There has always been wind cutting across the plane Changing everything

 -Skye’s Poem

Kuutar

Shimmering moth dusted moon maiden

Her skirts spun from the last of setting sun at the nether of day

Dripping dew tossing up a wake of mist obscuring stars

Night soft and certain bows beneath her slippered feet

I sleep her light upon my cheek knowing nothing of her innocence.

"Moth Queen" by anniestegg.

Saturday Afternoon

I would peel you apples just to see fall’s crisp juice color your lips.

You are so far from me

though

that I wield the knife mutilating the fruit

and bury Eve’s sin deep beneath pastry.

Perhaps the smell of it cooling on the window sill will bring you here

and I will yet taste your mouth

and know everything.                  -Skye

The girl cutting apple, 1938, Andre Derain

Image credit: Pat Lillich Source:thenightwhisperer.

Two-Faced

Assemblage of bone and sinew Careful crafting Of hide

I see you Looking out of the eye holes

And know death.

-Skye