weathervane
10 January 07
an insane wind told me:
riddles grow in the weathervane’s brain.
every light waxes it
black as ice, as the cockerel
cackles a murder of summer―
silly god of a bird
in love with a falling rock!
the weathervane is the shadow of a wing
that is the shadow of an arrow
puncturing the forgotten tarp of space,
revealing machines we’ve built.here a shocked crow would like to think
that order will be restored through chaos―
he pecks neat dents in dead ground,
he ruffles his glare like an attacker,
he wishes for a love of confusion.a wind, cousin of the storm,
spins an iron sheet
the shape of a gurgling bird.
I glance at children in the sunfull street
whisk after reeling leaves, pushing their run
against the sting.
This would be more appropriate, in my opinion, which is very humble, if it were called ‘weather vein’.
But i suppose that is merely a childish antic. I wouldn’t do it to my poem.
I enjoyed this much kasper.
I enjoyed it quite a bit as well. Brilliant imagery, especially in the last stanza. The second last one seems a bit too abstract to me.
I always love your poetry (I know you from ***). Your descriptions are wonderfully creative.