May. 6th, 2007 11:07 pm
gryphons_quill: (Default)

A whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh,
an endless story penned in blood and tears.
The eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

We tell a tale of women, you and I,
connected womb to womb across the years:
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh.

In watching you, I learned that I could fly.
The earth beneath our feet belied my fears—
the eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

Our silent story stands in mute reply
to life, a song in stillness; I can hear
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh.

If I track your gaze and even pass it by
I’ll never in this life lack for frontiers.
The eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.

Someday I hope another daughter’s cry
will echo in my arms and toward your ears,
a whispered wind, a soft remembered sigh;
the eagle’s wings are sharp against the sky.


Apr. 30th, 2007 11:08 pm
gryphons_quill: (Default)

Tracing concentric circles on the readied ground
that is you, I watch the skin rise
to meet my hand, yearning for touch; I watch
the reddened furrows I've made
of your chest,
symbols in a language known longer than time, of magic
older than old and deeper than dark. They dance
as though they know craving, as though
they know desire in its sweetness.
I watch you arch beneath my touch and think
of yearning and of

gryphons_quill: (Default)

Over dream-water oceans
and shared fantasies (long-sought truths),
into bloodstone carved bone caverns
(dark rushing myth-rivers rising within),
through spark-studded inspired skies
and molten currents (breathable still perhaps)
I will carry you

Clay Lives

Apr. 6th, 2007 11:13 pm
gryphons_quill: (Default)

Dig the clay.
Carry it home in reed baskets,
deep and heavy.

He met me when I was in the foothills
digging clay.
He touched my hand.

Sift the clay.
Take out every stone and twig and roughness until
it feels like sparrow feathers.

He came to talk with me, some nights. We walked
in evening-light together.
We spoke of kings and birdsong and shadows.

Wet the clay
with pure river water from over the rocks.
Let it sit for a night.

By the river-side with pitch-lined baskets,
he stole a kiss.
His eyes shone like the flick of a sparrow's wings.
His skin was the color of clay.

Mold the clay.
Draw it out of itself; awaken
the life in it.
Shape (gently, gently) eyes and feathers,
wings forever frozen at the edge of flight,
a tiny breath.

He followed a king's call.
He left me with a promise of love
and the swiftness of a sparrow.

Fire the clay.
Tender creation, buried beneath the flames
to be reborn.

I am alone.

A tiny brown bird in a nest of brick,
far from my fire,
my love shattered in the flames.

I am alone with my clay.


[this is very, very old; I wrote it when I was still in high school]


Apr. 3rd, 2007 11:15 pm
gryphons_quill: (Default)

come to me                              come
grasping hands              laughing desires
give me pieces of succulent flesh
mango sensuality
come to me                              come
with quiet exhortations
and tendencies toward silence
come to me                             come
skin crossing chasms            darkly velvet
give me oceans of solitude
and stormcloud freedom
come to me
beloved intruder              reaching, holding
give me flesh like thunder
in silence

[formatting and spacing mostly lost in LJ-land]
gryphons_quill: (Default)

I loved you far too much and far too well
and now I don't know how to let you go;
still, I wouldn't keep you if I could,
for you deserve a better love than me.
Yet even as I live my life alone,
I crave your slightest touch, a single word.

Not long ago, you left me many words,
which, though I tried, I understood not well;
I only knew that I was left alone,
to stand, and then to fall, watching you go
away from our tiny home, away from me--
no words explaining how you ever could.

I never thought of leaving, never could.
I thought that we were bound by more than words,
so, when you turned and took your love from me
I'm afraid I didn't take it very well.
I was afraid that once I let you go
I would spend the rest of my life alone.

You once told me I'd never be alone,
that, with your love to hold me, I never could,
and so I never feared that you would go.
But some cold wind has scattered all your words,
the pretty vows of love you spoke so well--
that you still speak, but no longer to me.

Now the world seems dark and cold to me.
My fears and shadows won't leave me alone.
If I could just believe you loved me well
I'd bid my ghosts goodbye--perhaps I could!
--but then I know these thoughts are only words
and have no strength to make my nightmares go.

I will have to learn to let you go
and still believe that once you cared for me,
that when you said "forever" you meant the word,
but now it's time for me to be alone.
You cannot love me now, but once you could,
and in that time you loved me very well.

If you would say a single word to me,
I'd go to you as quickly as I could.
As well you don't.  I need to be alone.


Dec. 6th, 2003 11:10 pm
gryphons_quill: (Default)

I come to my bed
as though you're in it,
as though the cold cold sheets are
warm with you.
I come to my bed damp and smelling of spices
of handmade soap and oils
as though my pillow can smell them
or my blankets would care.
I come to my bed now
as though to a lover, and
in my cold sheets I dream
you're there.


gryphons_quill: (Default)

December 2010

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