While russets smear cobweb clouds into floral petalled patterns
upon an enormous branch sat the Great Horned Owl Queen
beneath crowns from leaf and spruce needles
hymns of hooting death and rebirth songs
between fox and foxglove holly eyed silence
a potent smell reached her , why certainly this was not animal
nor human blood it was Otherly
Her council was called. The Blue Ibis from the East
spun many a wide threaded tale where each ending began again
one into another then he flew away
The White Crane of the West landed hastily
trees shaken from slumber as chaos turned to harmony
his rebellion amused her
The Scarlett Swallow from the South
lulling the Owl Queen into a magnitude
magma born from tragedy into heraldry
almost blushing she so tenderly said farewell
Though the Wise Wild Swan from the North
with fierce outstretched silken wings
bemused by his quests across Tuonela
Artic Altai trails he knew of mayhap
he bore the white feather of truth
After enduring mischievous trolls taunt
scattering elf laughter like rolling bells
She resigned to her High Branch
In silver soft blue light she sat
O how seashells did not replicated the ocean anymore
Once the water was our heart a cosmic mirror
now only skies were full of ripples
Trees fled as far as cliffy edges
perhaps wisdom only belongs
to kindness and fools
now under a half dissipating moon
She lay in the Universes lap
sleep would come soon
copyrights Riann, July 20 2025
all rights reserved
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Author:
Mourgana of the Fey (
Offline) - Published: July 20th, 2025 13:17
- Category: Short story
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Damaso
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Comments2
Perhaps it does indeed. In this world of humans happiness seems but an illusion to those in the throws of passion. Nicely done and a fave
Thank you Soren much to wonder about, and you are right happiness seems an illusion, I do believe in it though! Greetings and blessings
Riann
You are most welcome my friend
Riann…this is both myth-breath and dream-root. I love that about your poetry, in general, actually. This poem reads like it was remembered more than written. “O how seashells did not replicate the ocean anymore”. I absolutely love that line. Beautifully done, my friend.. 🌹👏
Thank you for your kind words Tristan, I honestly believe that you, among a few others here can see into the depths of my writings. And even so more this one. The poem reads like it was remembered more than written. Good observation! Sometimes we dream awake through poetry and writings to become even more connected with just that spark. Greetings and blessings
Riann
Greetings and blessings to you. I am humbled by your feedback of my feedback. Seriously. I have felt very connected to your writings and to have that affirmed by you means a lot. I am a fan of your work, my friend.
Tristan
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