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Look forward to reading your work
of a dragonfly’s wings
things we forget
of Japanese maple
sun filtered through
a dragonfly’s wings
-images and poetry by Deborah P Kolodji
The world over
Eye poker in England
Emulates øyenstikker in Norway
Take note: not the eyes
They seek to snatch
But flies that buzz and
Was said trollslända
Used to conjure magic;
It’s true their shape is
Reminiscent of a witches wand
Pencil long and thin as so
Confuse and entice
-Lydia P Wist
caught up in the light
of dragonfly wings
a placid lake
disturbed only by the flight
of a dragonfly
twisting into darkness
the migraine’s tail
Previously in Time Haiku #haiku
slow bend in the stream
in the heron’s still eye
Published in Presence #33
One Free Dragonfly
The jail break brings our old man back
to his dwelling,
quarantine room, grilled window pane full of lunar revolution.
The path from his fenestra to the myopic blur
runs straight and clear with a pond here, a tree there.
We wait for the cops to arrive. We snoke,
broach, babble, lose control over our fervor
about the old man and his ways. And one dragonfly
sits on the sill of our hearts. Evening is almost delivered.
The bright green of the fly’s back and translucency
of the pondhawk, or may be it is a darner,
trill what we see, what we perceive and then reject
as something we should not comprehend
as if the buzzing music arises from playing on
the strings of our consciousness.
Then it, although gone, explodes into a full moon.
The skirt of the village lifts up, shows other houses.
Some windows blink. Some remains ebony.
The pestilence breezes down the country’s intestine.
“I missed this.” The old man says. Perhaps
he means us or demising from a plague.
Perhaps he means the dragonfly the proverbs
spin as a symbol of security and abundance.
The Other Dragonfly
It tilts the pool world.
I hold the railing rusting away.
The place has
a throng of used needles.
Rubbers. Thin and ribbed.
I stare at the dragonfly.
Why am I here in the mass of nothings?
The dragonfly touches the feet once
Do not think about what it thinks about you.
Do not think about how it perceives you. I keep saying.
Dusk hovers over a distant turret.
I and the fly draw a border
between the day and day’s end.
A dragonfly is born to swim
dreaming of flight, each motion
unfolds its own ache
of transformation, each stage
a fight to see the world
in bright notes of new colour
and themselves – to be seen.
A dragonfly emerges,
harbours the magic of water
within, sheds the last skin
of fear and safety of obscurity
to reveal an inner light,
to blaze with realisation,
to be what it was meant to be.
cruise the summer breeze
rice grains heavy
against sky blue
~ Christina Chin
Plum Tree Tavern October 20 2019
frog on lily pad
~ Christina Chin
– Christina Chin
Bios and Links
lives in Bath with a cat. She loves history, folklore, nature, science, art and literature. She has been published in a few journals and anthologies here and there. Her debut collection, ‘Crown of Eggshell’, was published in January, 2020 by Cerasus Poetry. Rachel contributes regularly to ABCTales writing under the name of onemorething.
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