Auguries 4

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Sometimes, when I stare down

the silvered hallways,

my father stares back.

 

Listen.

This you should know my son:

Where sea touches sand

auguries multiply.

In the bellies of starfish,

in the jungles of wrack,

in the salty galaxies of shells

auguries are born.

 

Look.

This rock is a skull,

that cloud, an eagle,

and do you see the mermaid

in that drift of sand and seaweed

when the light is, just so?

 

Now close your eyes

and trace the Shaman’s face

with your sea blind fingers.

It was carved from this driftwood

by a magician,

singing to you.

 

Inundated and confused

I lean into visions,

unable

to decipher anything.

Brave maps become

empty paper bags

dancing in the wind.

Desires become

cascades of crows

released from clouds,

spiraling

through bones of trees.

 

“Try to lean toward ecstasy”

she said,

“and maybe, if possible,

keep leaning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Kudos, thanks and credit to the anonymous driftwood sculptor.

Poem and photograph by clinock.

 

Auguries 3

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I harvest signs,

glean among wispy omens,

scavenge in pyramids and middens

aching to unwrap the unknown,

reveal the secret names,

unfold the silence.

 

I am nothing if not voracious for the real.

 

Auguries reflect

our faces

fragmented in store windows.

Barely recognizable.

Blurred and staring masks

passing.

 

Oh and then there was the black scarf

blown into my patio by a February storm,

winding itself around the bare branches

of the Japanese Maple

sheltering

the small stone Buddha.

 

I wake each day to miracles.

 

sometimes

she says,

she has nothing to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poem and photo by clinock

 

 

Auguries 2

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Listen.

Auguries fly out

from holes in the world

like shakuhachi breath,

wind through cedars,

wolves and whales,

a crying child.

 

Auguries, (for instance)

single shoes emerge

through the holes in the world,

and make temporary homes

on beaches and sidewalks,

everywhere.

Silent, humble, lonely

they await interpretation.

 

The one today

a woman’s pump,

red, glossy,

almost sexy,

almost new,

and lying next to it,

in the February grass

and last years debris,

a doll’s head

with blue eyes.

 

Don’t you ever

wonder?

 

Last week

It was a coyote,

streaked with rain,

standing, hypnotized

under a buzzing street light.

 

She said,

“Everything is normal

except God.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poem and photo* by clinock

*for best viewing experience, click on image to enlarge*

 

Auguries 1

Auguries

Birds on wires,

musical notes, perhaps

a singing telegram

lost in translation,

lost in the gray.

 

It’s a dead worm

wriggling in the wind,

she said, and I added

A crushed crow,

red and blackly abstracted

with truck prints.

A woman laughing

in a doorway, and

pale movements

in my peripheral vision.

 

Auguries

stagger, wave, shimmer,

appear unbidden

unfurling from sodden earth,

emerging from mists,

shaped like cats, seagulls, roses,

smelling like rainsoaked moss,

sounding like birds on wires

beginning to unfold,

cleaving me

 

 

photo and poem by clinock

*for best viewing experience, click on image*