eclipse Posted October 19, 2015 Share Posted October 19, 2015 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. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
poetjohncompton Posted October 19, 2015 Share Posted October 19, 2015 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! Quote https://www.facebook.com/poetjohncompton Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tinker Posted October 24, 2015 Share Posted October 24, 2015 Wow, love the images in this piece. So beautiful, like the Wind horse itself. ~~ Tink Quote ~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~ For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
David W. Parsley Posted November 2, 2015 Share Posted November 2, 2015 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 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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