A Convening of Feathers

Long winters may shunt the creative, but a scene rich in symbol caught my eye last week.

 

 

A Convening of Feathers

 

Three pheasants on snow and litter under brush.

A crow squawks from their side a jump or two away

with sisters above on lamp and bare branch.

 

Disturbed birds of china retreat by quick feet

then with a call of oriental chime in low flight west.

Black chatter hovers to chase in curious report.

 

Was there any agreement on the nature of late winter?

Or can birds of cross feather ever see the others' light?

I convene with my kind and hope to touch heart.

© 2015 Ardi Keim

Spirit Flight

Lone eagle above the Temple--not soaring, but with direction and purpose.

I join in the flight.

 

Eagle racing winter wind

Prairie, rooftops, lake ice white

Lone spruce trail of autumn walkers

Long wait for Spring.

 

Books and thought of inner measure

Long the time and little space

Till joining now in spirit flight

And leave these shoes to race.

© 2014 Ardi Keim

Love This Season

some say
winter without snow cover is like life without love

for my zip code weather.com says 0 inches today, tonight and tomorrow
I miss it

snowed-in might be nice.
??
try me

but even this:

how often snow
soft and gentle? slow
before a storm's report
and nature's current need
a force to pull and push by gale
nor'eastern west and empty in its rage
then again to pace for down soft fall
to cover sins bruise bare still raw
and harsh before its start
a budding quick
to Spring

then it could be the passion of love
making snow by poetic invocation


---------------
I wrote and posted the above poem on Saturday. Tuesday morning we had 5 inches at our house. Not snowed-in, but grateful anyway. --a

Shedding the Mask

Before the battle
Donning chain mail and plate
Wrought shield and sword
Gave him comfort secure
Even knowing the enemy
Would claim its portion
In life and limb.
He rode onto the grounds of destiny
With confidence – virile and strong –
Intent on his duty
And the dance of his charge.

But after days of execution
Precise and of chance
Seeing the slain – comrade and foe
A weary portent of final fever
Crept onto the field.
First, more a false thought
Like a glance off the helmet
Or arrows to underbush.
But now, predominating,
Overwhelming his being,
Corrupting his dream.

He wanted to shed the armor
To gain new life
Revive in strength
And mount again his steed
Stripped of all but cinch
Stirrup and grip.
Take flight and annihilate
The heaviness of fate
Of hate and righteous anger
By the lance of light and heart
Is Soul renewed.

The war in the higher world
Is charged with pure intent
By the shock of truth.
No longer the battle commands
Of darkness afar
And deviant deed.
No longer the deceit
of mask and cover.
A new battle rejoined
When was it first?
And when will we march again?

Today, padded and fit
For two more months of winter
And its multiple of worn reality
Of users debt froze fast.
I tire of the mask and cover.
Spring comes as earth turns
Slowly. And lightning strikes
The flyers of false keys slyly kited.
But also it lights
The pine tree of freedom.
Shedding my mask I see.

Really it was just another below-zero winter day that inspired this. It aint Spring yet? No. And other storms do threaten.

Addendum 1/31/09:
If you detect a slight political tinge to this post, you are right. Covering snow drifts with snow seems clean, but the dirt and dog dung is all exposed soon enough. I feel all stimulus plans and bailouts are just a lot of fluffy ferry dust blinding us with false promise and hiding a worse storm ahead. The snow mask isn’t all we must remove. Freedom (economic and otherwise) comes with responsibility—not schemes to pad the pants of the devious and well connected.

I really didn’t intend on getting political and preachy here. If you’d like to have my expanded view see my Share Tree blog and my post on Financial Responsibility.

december morning gift

there are gifts in every season... blessings inside and out.

december morn
before horizon's gift
just hints its blue contrast
to roof's white pack aglow
and framed by branches rack
of turning textures brown
from spirits standing now
in skeletal remains
of images once green
then spread in red man's blanket
and sleeping under drift
yet deep within
an urge to spring
still silence
in the frigid forms
outside this window
warm inside
we squirrel in nest
recalling fall
and summer's hold
before horizon's gift
this frozen morn

(from journal page of 12/15/09)

Winter Score

As I sat in the parking lot of St. Vincent Hospital I was inspired by a crow. Pondering its lonely call, I wrote:

Crow knows the score in barren oak
Repeats the toll of winter
Sunshine
White cloud
Autumn leaves have fallen
Crow knows the score of winter winds
Snowflakes not yet drifting