The Christmas wind horse

[eclipse]

The robin had guessed prints in the

snow were not those of the wind-horse,

an incarnation of the last breath of a

bearded man that once covered the earth

like a shroud. Hail hammered breast make

it's ascent up the cathedral pane, figures

in the glass have a gaze that is forever

cast, like that of man who cannot see

beyond the time worn out ornament

Christmas has become. The stallion

contained every wind and breeze that

had ever blown, the little bird carried

every carol that had ever been sung,

but one. The horse carried the robin

on Christmas eve as he dreamt about

hearing the final words of a cipher

on a cross, then a dream about

passing over two thousand aimless

steps in a wilderness. Woken by

persistent glassy mists, the robin

sang with the only taker for midnight

mass, strange scarred male, together

they created an incantation, a spell

as winter gusts stroked midnight's bell.

[poetjohncompton]

i love the wind-horse image. i can only guess it's the wind wisping the snow. that's what i picture.

 

i love the whole vivid imagery of this poem. very descriptive.

 

i enjoyed!

[Tinker]

Wow, love the images in this piece. So beautiful, like the Wind horse itself.

 

~~ Tink

[David W. Parsley]

I sense a new development in your work that sustains tone and narration more seamlessly, Barry. No loss of symbol or originality, just a more holistic treatment. An evocative meditation on Christmas and how it continues to morph in our reciprocating definition and experience of it. Here the holiday resists such revision through the presences that haunt and congregate within the poem. Fine symbolist work.

 

Thank You,

- Dave