Paint brushes-magenta~deliquesce
into tarnished umber &
nuzzle the ditch close to
the highway's shoulder
lilies-copper orange~fade
trade places with green
leaves of poplar and birch trees
fuzzy fox tails brush
the crimson stained highway
the Mystic has been here
infusing
trembling gold and bronze
Black pools of ravens peck
at the blood trail
that leads to
the decapitated deer
coyotes zig~zag
criss~cross
wanting to feast
i push over the limit
yesterday the stag still
had his crown.
copyright: Dianne Tchir Sept.25,2010
Wow, I feel like I have taken a tour of an artist's den. xxx
ReplyDeleteHorace would be proud of this poem. The opening rocks. The end floors the accelerator as you show everything has its own time in wonderful imagery, then go for your own carpe diem with no sense in worrying about a future that is uncertain. A real gem!
ReplyDeleteAh, yes. Autumn in Albeta's boreal forest. You have so ably entwined its beauty, the human soul, and the life cycles the wilderness cradles.
ReplyDeleteEileen Schuh, Author
Schrodinger's Cat
http://eileenschuh.blogspot.com
I like the 'blurriness' of the first two stanza. The effect of watching from a vehicle window on the highway. Also, the kind of strained syntax you're employing here will always resonant with me, especially when used with a strong semi-cryptic declarative close. Good stuff Ms.Tchir!
ReplyDeleteI really like the sense of change and of the mystic, you tell it so well Diane. Very nice work.
ReplyDeleteThe first part of this beautifully written poem reminds me of how an oil painting comes into being.
ReplyDeleteAnd the beautiful stag, now dead...we see that so much here in my state...such a waste of grace and strength.