Wednesday, March 19, 2014

A Poem by Joanna M. Weston

I Have Seen These Stones Rise

an illusion of waves on the cliff
where gloves lie waiting for frost

fall of sunlight as winter spins
bleak tides under oak and elm

gulls soar over ragged stones
watching spiders linger in moss

night rubs grains of roiling sand
through cave of polished pale bones

steps broken in waltz-time to place
on kelp falling under an ebb-tide

these rocks have been stifled by fog
thrown against ears ringed by guitars

short messages traced by slim feet
balanced green under the solstice

broken keel slides into short grass
seaweed tangles between prayer and altar

pockets of faith in mapped oceans
dispersed in a salt-sprayed cemetery

Joanna M. Weston.  Married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a heard of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, Those Blue Shoes, published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, A Summer Father, published by Frontenac House of Calgary.  her eBooks found at her blog:

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