Tag Archives: seasons

~casualties of lake effect

 

 

it’s a common despair

inertia of a numb decision
and how aggressively it spreads
like january sniffles
or sprawling wind

trees gesture in their standing
orphaned by the green
blanketed with ghostsmoke

leaf fall comes shivering
the underneath goes still  

 

©  lori hamilton

~reactive depression

 

 

x.
the river craves an impossible blue

between us, a few words from here
a small color
inches along her veins

x.
the long-grass swallows
another january

buries the morning chill
roots within a rusted hinge



x.
foothills hesitate against
the clouds

time recollects absence

like cemetery air
like moss between bones

x.
to the north of sunday
everything is sky
everything has wings

x.
nothing right is left

 

©  lori hamilton

~hypethral

 

 

  

i. december

with nothing left to harvest

of a chillblain night

old stars burn swiftly

and collapse to metaphors

tremor my memory’s edge

          like tongues

keeping conversation with

palsied premonitions

it’s as if even a rusted moon resists

the imperfections of my half-naked

bones

a slight shift of light

an unraveling of reasons

seasons shuttered

to a darkened house

the familiar blur

ii. january

hourly, through this relentless

cold baptism 

I stoke the backfire

underneath the kindling of napalm

and molecules smolders

a consummation

a cause and effect

the escaping dark column 

creates a cloudbank

          some kind of smokescreen

that passes by my half-sighted pane

perhaps pollution of the dead

hours

an inarticulate darkening

iii. february

cancel now this grieving 

from my green eyes

contain all things off white

and winter-wounded

or remain widowed black

buried beneath a grey-haired horizon

eavesdrop from that cemented ceiling

to a voice unearthed

a reversal of sighs

as if the sound of leaden trees

          all bare-armed and longing

becomes an allegory of nous

an unlikely song

iv. march

as slow as sunday snow

I shred the advancing shadows

of eleven hours of damp ink

and build a papernest

vowing to become a bird

– uncaged

feathers preened, softened for flight

pulled the same way virgin petals stare

sunward

like pillars of melting smoke

find me now

          released

my slowfade into blue

I am wingspread

 ©  lori hamilton

~understanding calendar fog

from the root

there yields nothing more holy

than the body that

flowers 

breath of small voices

     throats of birds 

thunder brings benediction 

from the hands of

god himself 

.

a blue poem disorients

its naked knowing

slips beneath the skin

     burrows mole-like

     into bones 

mines salt from

deep caves of eyes 

shadows lay on a pale

     breast of moon 

.

sky smokes without apology

     a red spark

the ceaseless settling of ash 

brunette forest full of things

forgotten 

     battered leaves

     become tinder

burn brief, struck match

somewhere is

     a fire 

.

all is dark

in a shuttered house

      fevered with pity 

button the sorrow

between bodies

late hours comfort

     those held prisoner

by the wolves and coyotes

surviving an ivory plain 

.

pour pomegranate from the

chest

remove seeds from ribs

and plant them six feet

below the surface of earth

this is the undertaking of

a vulture who steals the flesh

.

trees are still tonight. crickets

gossip of fireflies dancing drunk

in a lazy meadow. starfish light

the closest sky; clouds spread like

driftwood to sand. I can barely

explain the way this breeze spills

notes of flutes and chimes, as if

wind writes music from the bluebells

in my garden.

©  lori hamilton

~camouflaging ghostsmoke

 

 

winter

pine-scented wind

carries an effervescence

of evergreen

     and I ache to come in

     from the cold

     to climb back between

crisp sheets and heavy blankets

and sip sugared tea

curl into pages of the poem

I slept with last night

spring

his breath smells of hand-rolled

cigarettes

and my skin was like dogwood, fully

in bloom

     the clouds are dripping honey

and hummingbirds have forgotten how to

     fly

summer

rain sprinkles the cotton t-shirts

snapping on the neighbor’s

clothesline

it’s the coming of another angry

sky

and june’s mock-orange already

fears the fall

     – her delicate pale petals

autumn

the horizon is unwashed

     dingy in its raw ash

leaves are burned out now, disheveled

losing their grip

this northdriven wind spits at my face

as if it wishes to grab me by the throat

      and steal away my voice

©  lori hamilton