They Are From There
They are, to me,
indecipherable as language,
but beautiful, too, barely
legible in the pen swoops
capturing landscape and loss,
the ancient land beneath them
barely there, yet remembered
like breathing, like singing,
like writing poems by candlelight
for someone else to read later
for #ds106
with this poem by Mahmoud Darwish as inspiration
https://blogs.transparent.com/arabic/arabic-poem-%D8%A3%D9%8E%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7-%D9%85%D9%90%D9%86%D9%92-%D9%87%D9%8F%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7%D9%83%D9%8E-by-mahmoud-darwish/
My friend, Murph,
was a drummer,
extraordinaire -
his back-beat,
precise, like magic
in the air
Calligram for #ds106 Daily Create
https://flic.kr/p/2rxgbCZ
Red, after yellow,
after green; the chlorophyll
sleeps in cold weather
Etchings in the frost;
Some mysterious scribbling
of stories on glass
Wandering through fields
shoulder high and still stretching;
the rain feeds the grain
Some travel afar,
making plans for gathering
beneath Hunter's Moon
At ocean's high tide,
we wander close to the line
where sand disappears
Laughter is what comes
after the strange connection
between tone and words
Noticing darkness
falling earlier each day;
Autumn's arrival
for Algot
Here, beneath the eaves,
safe from the threat of rainstorm,
we find some respite