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]

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~]

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,
           foxtrot,
                              merry,
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!]

Cutpurse Flight

Each in bird a hive to grow,
to tell of quiets lest profound,
to make the bee-buzz brim,
                                             that,
waft-like swoon of beak to bulb, a brief repast,
in ground, inside; an inescapable palette
                                             that,
even as the white bloom of flies
in saffron beds, be bold be, of the bee
                                             dear bird,
you swivel, darling, there above the yew;
in a field that swells with the burst of grain,
dipped and then green after a week of un-taste.
                    We bow,
                                we bow,
                                             below we bow –
blest be you for cutpurse flight.

© Eve Redwater 2012

                                                                                                    
[Posted for DVersepoets “Poetics: New view for you”, where we were tasked to write a poem from a pool of beautiful photographs by Tracey Grumbach. I hope you enjoy my contribution today!]

From the Nose

This is the dawn.
                  dawn 
		Ƌɒʍɳ
		

	it is the dawn,
		garden, harden, pardon? Larvae, ᵂondering whether
						
	
				or not
			   as the case most usually, isn't or,


			is
			isn't	
				not

but, where or
		who
		who
			is 
there?
	
			garden gate
			penny, farthing
				gate, g(r)ategate	Ḕaten
		
	
		then a 
			me
				bee?

			In the nose
				from
		the nose

				no, nose 
					he knows
	
		
		

		

				better than me
				bee in me,

			
		could you
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 




	
	
						ssᴤstop?

© Eve Redwater 2012

[I wrote this for DVersepoets “Poetics: Nightmare Verse” – where we were charged with writing about a recent nightmare/nightmarish situation. It was a fun exercise! I based this of a recent dream I had: I tried a as-surreal-as-I-could composition; most of my dreams are as such! Can you spot the things hidden within it? I drew the bee picture (which you can click on for a larger preview) with some new software that I’m playing around with! I’ve also made a few changes around the site, too – what do you think?]

Harvard’s Bestiary

Blessed are the birchmarked trees and pilchard burn,
the brought-out batteries of packed sardines and mellow tails –
the beekeepers net, soft and wild. Linen, muslin; fabric-genius.

                                                                  The holders of honey.
The bees sough, graze flower tongues and meet their Queen,
clandestine sorceress in jail-break colour.
Take chance and mount the hill beside, the lofty light,
and watch as pen to diary makes: to tell what of leaves,
a brier of twigs and fox-foot-fossils left in mud.

© Eve Redwater 2012

[Hello everyone! I’ve written this poem as a kind of addendum to The Bees – a poetic partnership of sorts. This week has been eaten up by my dissertation, phew – I’ve got some catching up to do!]

The Bees

Blessed are the flockmarked trees and bees made gold.
Indispensable bumbles, fluffs and fauna.

                                                                   Boysenberry,
Cranberry, tulle, Boysenberry, pawnbroker, penumbra. They scatter.
A fire above the blazing garden battle. Honeylove for a pout,
teacakes, Earls in Grey and flour white loaves. Caught at
the edge, the bee-sage makes a heavenly stout: pressed to lips,
a pleasant hum to make good the year and sun’s sweet sallow.

© Eve Redwater 2012

Today (21st March 2012) is World Poetry Day!