Shortly After Rain

Cricket mother screams at their ruined floors
and house
and ceilings
Cricket children scatter
to mend
and avoid
Mother Cricket's rampaging dirge.

Memory whistles to me this Winter Day

Last summer, when the days
Stretched themselves out a-mornings,
Yawned, chased, yielded and heeled beside the sun.
Pools lapped, pleaded,
'Til late evenings, circling, finally curled about themselves.
Stars
winked and swished their tails
and waited to Pounce.

A historical background of Celtic poetry

"The high status of poets within Celtic societies is well attested and was maintained down to the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries. In Gaelic societies the name for a poet, file (or filid - plural), is derived from a root word meaning "to see". [sic] Celtic poets may be better known as bards and though the Irish and Scottish peoples poets also came to be known as either file or bard, originally there was a distinction in rank between the two with the hereditary file having the higher status and greater training." --on Celtic poetry from The Poet's Garret. The rest of the site is worth a read.

Prosaic disclaimer that might be in order, considering the nature of my previous post

I'm the furthest thing from emo. I don't stalk people.

The end.

An unlabeled Seedling, dry and unsprouted for now

Just for the record--

To know what I did

To alienate you so

To know why you aren't you looking me in the eye

when other eyes are on you

Maybe I seem crazy

Too over the edge for your tastes

I stared too long--

my eye lingered too long outside your window

I'm sorry my admiration made you angry.

"I would build that dome in air, / That sunny dome! those caves of ice!" --Coleridge

Will my world of words prosper? or will it flutter down in ashes from the fire, the residue of the warring clash of dream and reality?

I'm just curious.