Coronach

as it says

Gather the crowberries

                for this windfeast.

Adorning our cheeks with ochre

                we pile together

                a throne of old rowan.

The staggards behind us,

                warm breath at our napes,

                we are as careful as a circle.

So a keening for the wild flightsman,

                the hewer of stone, blood-iron hearted,

                now dead as a distant star,

                that points the way of smoke, of fire.

But for a moment the wind resides. 

Reviews

[Coyote Song]

A very captivating poem without outstanding imagery. You do such wonderful work Leslie!

[Tina Kline]

This is very vivid, such strong descriptive words. I can truly say I could see this as I read your wonderful words.

[Valentine]

We all carry our own thoughts to each ones burial. Valentine

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the wind resides and blows our thoughts this way and that...as we attend the last rites, the burial of someone we felt was regal in life...the sadness moves within us like the leaves on the trees in the wind.

at least for that moment...and most likely in future moments, we will still feel that breeze.

beautiful poem.

j.

[Leslie Philibert]

Hallo Jacob, thanks for the kind words. I try here , at the end,to evoke a sense of suspension in a formal, ritualistic situation. I`m not too sure if this is a very honest poem, I write here about something I have never known myself, this is how I imagine it to be !

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you have quite the imagination, then, because your words make us feel as if you have been there and done that! that is the sign of a true wordsmith.