3 cubed
33
Mistletoe
I thought it was where the crows lived whilst
looking across the horizon anticipating trouble,
seeking landfall, plunder, gossip with piracy; but,
it seems this brawny orb is feeding from the host tree,
stories circling its stems; fertile berries feeding
Taranis thundering along the trackways; lovers wait.
Now a raptor flies, the chariot unmanned, stealthily
sliding past unseeing watchtowers to deliver coercive
combat air systems. Scavengers pucker their lips.
&
another thing, it doesn’t need to be so binary, either/or,
this/that, it could be a stained-glass ribbon flowing
across the tide-line path crunched by serial footsteps
treading beyond our ken. Or three moments where myths
cross, retelling some old misunderstanding about them,
their kind, our folk; where we blend/manipulate/disguise
truth with layers of belonging. So, pause at grief’s worn
crossway to swap tears, be wrapped in garments threaded
with gleanings of displaced kin; rebuilding again, perhaps.
Soiled
Spit it out! The muck forced into mouths, spluttering
as oaths, the toxic mucus crushed up nostrils, specks
rammed into eyes held face down in rotting silage
decomposing matters consigned to forgotten shelves.
Shake it off! The slurs, slights, sneers, hostile sideways
glances peering through layers of smutty, grimy silence.
Turn over! Let fresh ideas settle between toes, deepen
under fingernails as organisms re-nurture and history
grows goodness again … ashes to ashes, dust to dust …
© Craig Muir 2021
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.
First published in Spirit of Fire & Dust https://fireanddust.bigcartel.com/product/spirit-of-fire-and-dust-anthology