Inside my December room, Wednesday 8 pm,

the window reflects only me, but
I know that beyond, in the dark, the
branches cast their shadow
against the sky—a patterned whisper, a voice
like wrinkled wind.  Outside is
far away from the artificial glitter of a
wire-wrapped tree, sparkling a mere
imitation of stars, pretending to echo in a vibration
of what the night has to say—the messages passed amongst
the members of the nocturnal choir.  The
listening of the landscape requires attention—the trees’
murmuring, air displaced by invisible wings, thin
threads woven in soundwebs—stillness shivering the leaves.

A golden shovel poem for the dVerse prompt from Peter for endings. I’ve used a line from M L Smoker’s poem “Mercy”–a source for a number of pages of writing in my journal.

“But the shadow voice is a mere vibration amongst the trees’ thin leaves.”
–M L Smoker, Mercy

35 thoughts on “Inside my December room, Wednesday 8 pm,”

  4. Such a beautiful golden shovel, Kerfe, and I love the words you have used from M L Smoker’s ‘Mercy’. Your poem is full of sounds and reflections – also in your collage – and I especially love the phrases ‘a patterned whisper, a voice like wrinkled wind’ and ‘sparkling a mere imitation of stars’.

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  7. I’ve just realised reading this how a Golden Shovel poem can be a guide or co-ordinates for our Muse to take us where s/he will. ‘a mere
    imitation of stars, pretending to echo in a vibration
    of what the night has to say’ – I love this idea of listening to night music, the music of the spheres!

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  11. I love the sounds here: nocturnal choir, a patterned whisper, a voice
    like wrinkled wind.

    Thank you for your art and words, and being part of our poetry community. Happy Holidays.

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  15. ok, this imagery is so piercingly beautiful, I truly wish I had written this, I am so jelly 😉 this is epscially wonderful:

    a patterned whisper, a voice
    like wrinkled wind.

    K- this goes on the wall, next to reticulation. so well done!

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