Thursday, 29 July 2010
| Sometimes - Magic |
 |
 |
 |
|
POETRY | By Joanna Gale
Along the way of the deadwood trees
up there, on Stoney Brown Hill, sits Arial ,
the prettiest fairy, on a carrot weed,
fluttering her feet—nibbling a berry
bright as the twinkle in her eyes.
We drive the sparkle of trees. She hops
the hillside beside us; and from deer fence links
she harnesses wind chariots of magic,
sprinkles her wispiness over crushed rocks, and
in dervish whirls she twists and turns, hovering
the passion flowers risen from their heartaches.
She darts and splits the jagged black-cut giants
that crowd, and loosens mountains of cloud
enough to show their petals smiling.
The sky opens, and the horizon smoothes beyond
the river loops she pirouettes, once more,
before she floats into the great white
bear cloud stretched over us—to disappear
beyond the scent of sweet grass—splattering
gold dust.
• Joanna Gale, a resident of Markham, Ontario, is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and Canadian Federation of Poets. She has also recently been involved with The Markham Village Writers. She loves to write about anything that moves her. This piece was started while driving back to Ontario from Nova Scotia. |
Register/Login
Like it? Share it!
