Wild Swans

Yeah, I know, no one has commented on the last two posts I've made, so why am I making a new one? But I read this poem the other day by Edna St. Vincent Millay, Wild Swans, and really liked it. It is how I feel. It is copyrighted, I guess, so I will only put the first part of the poem here.

I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.

On where I am

This is a poem I wrote back in 1998. Tell me what you think, good or bad. (On where I am is the title)

The garden path round the house
Springs in my face as I fall.
I lose my step and my hold
On the waist-high, lavender wall.
The flowers sewn in my hand
Writhe in this puddle of mud
Their petals are colored as bright
As the night's long echoing flood.
Yet the path as it narrows beneath
The weight of my sighs and my skin
In front of my eyes it doubles,
Wider grows, though each one is thin.
The daylight pouring in drops,
Great orange disks of time,
Rolls down the razor edge roof
Of Everest, to begin to climb
The expansive mouth of my yawn.
As I sink in the quicksand of feeling
Fire balls galaxies wide
Enter and I land reeling.

One of my poems

I thought I would share a poem I wrote ten years ago.

Corona

The sun being white in the sky
My mind in shadow bends
God's grace flowing in the summer storm
As my white-faced body mends.

Blood and red tip my fingers
The scorching daytime rays
The flowering sagebrush yellow
Golden in my hastening days.

The shadow's still warmth cools me
And my brain like a rock already cold
My heart once beating now stills me
Lying in my bed of mold.

Wings flapping clumsily about
Not angels but vultures converse
And the halo I see above them
Is wind blowing a circle of earth.