The Evergreen

Unbroken road hast led me sagely warm, trails led east to feast upon the chill sweetmeat of me, Thou shall not tender foist mine hand awry, t’were it not, no less, for newness.
        In mind of stony sojourn stippling wings; and what sweeps soft-smooth to the burrowed and Hollowed, O moribund death! doth winter chill, and yielding thee, under ring’d crow-blanched land, Thou not lose sight as the vixen chancing, as far horizons bend little glance, a dance of pivot, of joy.
        Trees, said yew, and oak that falls on hard knees, timely wills are broken, down to old bees That teem with gold to catch a falling star; and in seek of dancing tongues compass far, beyond, Before and done, and death become thee.
O evergreen! thine lovely shrills and plucks of earth, to prove and coddle bluer luck; go, go and
        Catch (your star), what is left of glowing wood.


© Eve Redwater 2012
[Nearly forgot the link! – Posted for Dversepoets Open Link Night 50]


Lavender, plum, where the apples yet sweet,
         and the rumble of cares long lost to the ears,
the earth, and all that was in the merry and the piebald
frost-bitten stripes of corn to the morning dew,
thrice and yet warmed to the sun’s shiveringly
quiveringly lovely gold dapple drunken harmony
         and there, where the stores of flowers
like the rugged memories,
the guttering of trees,
coppices, and natures’ bound to green, to grow
unselfish, to hew, we hew,
         we know no better.

© Eve Redwater 2012

This poor chap was hanging on to this lavender as the wind blew – bless! © Eve Redwater 2012

The Panic of Life

Sweet glabrous stem
of the wind overhanging,
below in the fires,
in the earthenware born–
bare in the small, in the stoic and the slim,
cut open what’s thin
and what falls into form.
Full light of the moon
and the tough of a blight,
as the shy ever was,
ever was, ever was–
and the piceous dawn,
that is sore and sound warned,
of the you, and the you,
and the you they adorn.
And we’re through
And we’re through,
of the black final push,
of the plush life you scorned
you are calico born,
through flush and the thrush
in the sparkling stream
in the tin-tin-tin of
a ten-footed dream,
from the air and what was,
at once we remember,
without gall, without wing,
without rambling pitch
in the dark dark dark of the
murk of the bark,
we sink and we
swim and we’re bleak and we’re thin
till we’re gone
till we’re gone
prove us wrong,
prove us wrong.

[Post for DversePoets Open Link Night Week 48 – It’s nice to be back! It feels like forever since I’ve posted, how are you all? Let me know what you think of my contribution today! x]

Buzzard and Two Crows

What road goes ever on and on, in reverend panoply? –
      Of hummerhorns and battle-born shimmering the sky-shiv,
      Blest be those, a paladin, the greener things that simmer
Patina, or perfects left to glimmer in the canopy,

Belabouring the sunlight, the bleak corrode of day,
      The sweetest sour of lips to glide, a boast of bigger wind –
      And in the ring, the rung, the wither beat and bear
Of falling wings comes bitter black, the two italic fray,

What unheard in nature, the buckle of a minion,
      Overhead the hoverings, the smothering and thinner
      Dives become but level dance, a most insipid thing –
But clogs of clouds, O bevelling! Their creation of a pinion,

      And ring’d wroth upon goldén foe they winter,
      Furbished with a glaring, a potted chomp on rudders tail,
Posthumous as the gilded-sting of goldenrod and burr,
Gashed in blueish audience, two bottle’d necks that linger.

© Eve Redwater 2012


[In this poem, I wanted to express my seeing of two crows fending off a buzzard. This happened to me in the local park the other day – the sun was shining, it was a special sight to see! The “goldén” has an accented “e”, which indicates a stressed emphasis when read out loud – I hope you enjoy!]


Upon this glory moulded gilded gold and morning
         Fell obscure to seams behold, the flutter-blood of earth upturned
         The yellow folds, twas kingdom sworn – finer picking, pluck it yearned,
Dawned, upon what love to tell, the finer song in lovage yawning,
I swore, by song in swelled out throttle chords, to mouth, oh spring! –
         Under thimbled tips your swift unsingly, your greener, large rudder wings
         The palest gourd: as fend-off-falcon-gentle swings sweet to the little things,
blow, and wind be fearless upon thy single shin:

You turn, a sibyl songstress the amberest pluck, nihtegales’ wold,
         And be not a tempered thing, shadowed over gleaming sight
         Beauty in the marksman gully thy paints upon mine height,
The slender, supple, oh, wonder flutter of a neck in reddish gold –

Majesty of one that does not contend, nor bend the will of vixens’ den,
         A prairie-borne of one who knowest the better sough
         Unknown to thee bee-catcher wings form finger grins below the bough –
Thy comrade nature, be a beating plume, an eye for eye o’er gloaming glen.

© Eve Redwater 2012


[I’ve written this for DVersepoets Form for All, where we’ve been tasked of writing in the style of Gerard Manley Hopkins and his beautiful “sprung rhythm” poetry. I wanted to capture the flight of a Mandarin duck over a field with this poem. I’m a big fan of Hopkins, so this was a joy to write!]

Hive to Water

In the honeycombed, boney-silence,
where projections of flowers
under the guise of a bees bell of leggy amrita
the huddle and bury of laughter before
strands of milkwood buries within the thistle
the things we have never yet determined from glimpses
lost to the dark;
and if, by some wishbone happening,
should it fall to the river,
its many conflations, in silica, in bees,
born to love against the sage flurry in a fuzz,
you would hear, among the ages of ferns,
the thousand thick hum –
the bodies contained within
the jelly-thick flutings of the brooding hive,
the ‘we’re oh so ready and done for the year‘.

© Eve Redwater 2012


[It’s taken a while to feel up to writing creatively again, but it’s great to be back! Here’s my contribution to DVersepoets Open Link Night – week 44. Hope you like it~]

Second Skin

Turn back time and I will be
as of the wind
sugarcrafted on the skin
with pause for eyes the nose
salacious teethings
and sometimes
when the moon sucks the wood
from yonder trees
and chiff-chaffs stick
their nosey points towards
grey bony threads of
remember me
when all is sifted and I a
a slump and spendage
around the shoulders
of stalwart better things

© Eve Redwater 2012

[Posted for Dverse – Meeting the Bar: Allegory – come join the allegorical fun! Also, remember you can always click on my photographs for a bigger view~]

Of Hunting

We begin with the warming, the pip of a heart.
Day mould in the leaves,
rust in the flora scatters in shudders.
Stuck to a tree comes a bellow of cuu. A sparrow I drew
with the yew in my bow; sadly, sorry. Mouthlings are split.
A mermaid-purse for the insides-out:
                           the forgotten smell of worms.

© Eve Redwater 2012


[Short and sweet today everyone, my workload is not fun! This photograph was taken on a trip to the Peak District one afternoon; a lovely snowy day. Submitted for DVerse Open Link Night.]

Man, Rain, Everything

For those who remain stood
With the slope of their back
To a creamblooded wave,

The pickforks and toothpicks
To the feet and the toes,
Observant as they needle

The maws of scarlet crabs,
And to the right, in the firm
Of an April frost

Comes a snuff of italic rain,
A blackwhite chipped grey
To the nose of a dog yet swift,

The batter of purple-bruised berries
Under a calamity of wet,
They learn to do rhythm

In the mouth with a caracal pinch,
Unravelling soured pieces
A calla flower bursts in the throat,

Stops, then blooms on the crest
Of your limbic rose tongue,
Stopped, before the vaccine words

Blew short an incognito, ochreous dandelion,
She who tips her lost children to the wind
Against flat-palmed duns in the tide,

And you, this day,
Black shoes beached
Through a tumult of sand,

Imprinted on the mould
Of a sugar tipped hill,
The water, air, a flurry of green-cud grass,

A pale of flowers to the ears,
Poor motes sot wild in the breast,
So many of us, together.

© Eve Redwater 2012

[It’s been raining all day today, I love it! It helped me write this for Dverse~]

Ariadne’s Child

Where the birch meets water,
lost in the mouths of lilied frogs
beyond and involved, evolved with the foxgloves,
purple of the edible pansy blooms;
the breadth of a bee sting, slowsoft in butter colour
as it spreads;
take care and be well
whisper down to the lambkid, she says:

down there, bygone by buttress and marigolds,
swiftsure and buried in the browns of soil,
out there, take the tail of a queen and walk forever,
downward where a willow meets pine.

© Eve Redwater 2012

[This photograph was taken on a lovely sunny day a couple of weeks ago in my local park. A day or so later, it snowed!]