On which everything’s riding

Silent wonder while the others
pontificate and promise
vengeance, wrath of their god
of military might and terrible

My childhood flower opening
perspicacious unpuzzling
each hushed telling behind closed
places dank with must

A fine art so sometimes
I forget my strength, surrounded
by these boxes of toxins
ancient taint familiar, a scent like

Just now, an eagle
lopes the overcast sky,
the high view and miles
spinning into patterns I’ll miss

Stilling every song,
we are all watchful in
the forest stretched here
along the water. I track

as a granddaughter, respect
symptoms like the yoke
of winter lifting still poised
on this threshold lake like a

A morning muse inspired by Pontificate, Perspicacious, Flower, Vengeance, Water and Ian Anderson’s The Secret Language of Birds.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

13 thoughts on “On which everything’s riding”

  1. Your closing lines evoke a wicked unforgettable image.m The style of the poem intrigues me; words and thoughts stream past like throbs of Cummings, singing by Sartre, disjointed yet cohesive.

    Liked by 1 person

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