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Day 3 Prompt: Illusion

Celtic trees of birth

Mine is the Illusionist

Known as Hawthorn Tree

Hawthorn is the gate

To a world beyond our plane

Where the fae may dwell

#celtic tree #astrology #poemvember2020 #poemvember #old project #trees #fae folk #poetry #haiku #illusion

Day 1: Reflections

It's all a reflection

Like the moon on the sea

With self-introspection

That's all we can see.

Every feature is twisted

And warped and wrong

The broken Self we've insisted

We've been all along

But when you gaze skyward

And look at the Fact

No need to take my word,

See how you react.

#poemvember

Familiar

The last recorded aurochs died in a forest in Poland in 1627. Let’s assume she knew.

That for two million years her countless cousins ranged from Morocco to Korea, Scotland to Tamil Nadu. That in 1564, “Royal gamekeepers knew of only thirty-eight aurochs left in Poland.” Or anywhere. Let’s assume she was one of them. A calf, then. Let’s assume an aurochs could live to sixty-three. Elephants live to sixty or seventy. Aurochs weren’t much smaller.

How many died within her lifetime? Did she watch every one of the thirty-eight die around her, through the years? Did she have aurochs friends when she was a girl, and… just… None had calves? Maybe some did. Maybe they all did, and the calves all died. Or maybe it was just her mother. Maybe they were the last two, a long time. And then just her.

In English the number doesn’t matter: countless aurochs, thirty-eight aurochs, two aurochs, one aurochs. She was singular and plural. All of them. The Aurochs. In a forest shrunk forever and forever by farms filled with the other countless little second cousins once removed. “Genetic research suggests the entire modern stock of taurine cattle may have arisen from as few as eighty aurochs tamed about 10,500 years ago in southeastern Turkey and northern Iraq.” Let’s assume she knew that, too.

Replaced.

Domesticated, and replaced.

Irrelevant.

As if she were not obviously integral to the whole world. As if she were not permanently vital, strong and wise beyond newcomers’ ken, beautiful and glorious and terrible as they all had been, all her great fellows- the great cats, great bears, her great sloths and camels and rhinos, megaloceros and mammoth,

all hers, all gone, and she knew, at the last, she knew.

And had no one to tell.

#poemvember #no. 4 #2017

Day 20 Prompt: Sting

I’ve never been stung by a bee

So there’s no way to guarantee

A decent response

To this little prompt

I don’t even know how to feel…

When I see a bee I just freeze

And let it do what it may please

For what I have read