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Literature Text

Raccoon winter
Will offer fins
Claw-curled questions,
Clear mansions notched
With possible calling-cards, your pools, they’re watched.

Next’s muddy-pawed spring,
Spawn-eyes (ringing
Bells, singing of
Dead grandmothers’
Fears) peep up from bottommirk, or squinch (whist!) closed.


Birch-sap slaps masked
Mischief, risk your
Fur, whisk fish out
From freshets, Plash!
(His footing fails him) Did those sick bastards laugh?
DFC -- Poem #31.

Meet the last poem of the month, a Ya Du (and yes, ferserious, that's the form's name).

...

What goes around comes around...

Enjoy! :)
© 2016 - 2024 WinteroftheSoul
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