For Paul Brookes’ challenge. You can see the photo by Julian Day that inspired the poem here.

When the winter king

When the winter king blows cold,
frost-breath furring the roof,
even the clouds crack like black ice,

gold in his crown stolen
from the failing sun, while
we hunch before the fire,

ruffled and fearful as pigeons,
cold to the marrow
of our slender bones.

Another intriguing cloudshape from Julian Day which you can see on Paul Brookes’ blog here.

Hunting

If there were a wild hunt
it would be wild wolf-led
and I would follow

through high tide and gale
through tempest
and boiling clouds

cheek by wolf jowl
the hunting of the moon
the netting of the stars.

This poem is inspired by Julian Day’s photo. You can see it on Paul Brookes’ blog post here.

Silence

The sun is a whale’s eye
great blue
grey as waves on the ocean sky.

Shipwrecks below
thin voices rising
do you hear, do you care?

Grey waves break
timbers splinter in silence
le silence de la mer.

You wink and dive
taking Ahabs and von Ebrennacs
beyond the broken horizon

where perhaps the gulls
will have pity
and answer their questions.

A double badger’s hexastitch. The photos are here (trying to catch up).

The white breast feathers of a swan

Sky full
of the first things
feathered lizards scaled birds
blue mirror reflections
all that ever
crawled flew

soared seas
winged through oceans
breasted the high currents
white-plumed and rainbow-scaled.
On the still pool
wild swan.