It’s the beginning of January and in the middle of the night, when all is still except for the low chatter coming from the latest netflix episode from the latest series. One cat sleeps on my lap and one cat sleeps under my right arm on the couch, warm and dreaming of hunts in summer fields.
Almost as if inside my head, comes a distant sound like silver tinkles on a wind chime. It sends a chill at the top of the spine that rises up and blossoms in the back of my head. It grows closer and more distinct. It is the chorus of yipping that comes from a coyote band on the move. Trying to imagine how those short legs can navigate through the tall snow, coming from deep in brambles of the back acreage where no human foot treads. Maybe they follow the deer paths and hope to get lucky with one of the stragglers in the process.
The cats wake and both of their heads swivel. If my furbabies were in the wild they’d make a tasty snack for the band. Maybe it’s the bags of used kitty litter in the open can outside the door that draws them in? Maybe it’s the kitchen scraps on the snow-mounded compost heap that has drawn furred morsels to it? Or maybe they are calling me out to play?
Moonlight’s blank landscape
Furry shoulders bump then run
Two worlds one spirit
The poem that calls to me from the last year is one by Glenn Buttkus, published on 11/23/20 at Glenn’s blog and at dVerse:
by Glenn Buttkus
“Life will reveal all to you when the time is right
and the moon is bright.”–Guru S. Gill.
In the great northern forests where Sasquatch has
been seen and not seen, where winter has stabbed
into the heart of autumn with icicle stilettos and
deep dangerous freezes, there are isolated places
where there is no man’s track, no smell of tobacco,
no tread-marks, no oder of alcohol, no garbage, no
zap of neon, sirens or horns.
There is a snow wraith that prowls in the deepest
shadows, striking fear into the hearts of cougar,
bear, and men, that possesses granite muscles
undulating beneath a striped mantle, a little
monster with musk sacs, part bear, part badger,
part skunk, with savage ferocity and courage
equaled nowhere–the white wolverine.
Only a few men have ever seen the albino Carcajou,
but I have many times, in my mind, seen the glorious
swath from the powerful shoulders to the base of its
great bushy tail, and the fearsome black-green weasel
eyes, and the razor fangs that can crush bone or bite
through a metal roof. I have seen the skunkbear
sitting back on its haunches like a wolf, and it has
From Winter’s skull cap,
it expects me, as I leave
the stink of cities behind.
I really love how Glenn has tapped into the spirit world here, a place so far away from the spiritually bereft world of modern civilization. How I responded is not a direct conversation with either character in Glenn’s poem, but more in a metaphysical way.
Sarah is today’s host of dVerse. Sarah says:
This is your task for this prompt:
1. Choose a poem that calls to you. Choose something you’ve read over the last year – maybe from dVerse, but you can take a poem from elsewhere if you prefer.
2. Write a poem in response.
3. Post your poem, and either the original poem or a link to it, so that your readers can see the conversation manifested.
3. If you like, you can explain what it was that attracted you to the original poem, and how you’ve responded to it.