An Anthology
by
Melanie Nordberg.
Copyright 2001 all rights reserved.
THE TIME OF THE HAWKMOTH.
THE TIME OF THE HAWKMOTH.
Fire
It was an execution
The glowing embers lit the countryside
The hills held flames
Sparks shot skyward
Myriads of brightness
To try and rival the sun.
Indiscriminate in its destruction
Taking and sparing at random
It broke many a heart.
The fire has gone a month now
But memories still cling to the charred trunks
Of the tall trees.
But gone are those rank, tall grasses
New shoots break through - fresh and green
Ferns and orchids thrive upon the ashes.
Nature has taken its course
And once again
Death and fire
Has made the land fertile.
The mark of man lay upon the shore
Of her now dismal world.
Beneath the trees
She lay and panted
Seeminly at ease
Though her life was seeping outwards with her blood
She seemed at peace
Beside the waves whose sound would never cease.
The salt which cleaned her wounds
The endless sand
Would soon be lost
The past and future both
Would slip away
The only cost of death
Was to give up what was known.
Yellow dog now lifeless on the sand
The men had gone
For centuries they cursed her down the years
From dusk to dawn.
It seemed they had forgotten
Who drew first blood.
LEOPARD
Sleek, spotted cat, as sudden and swift as death
Why do you gaze at me?
I am hypnotized by the implication of your stare.
Wild longing stirs my soul
I long to be part of you.
Although your jaws could crush, your claws could maim
I am unafraid.
Why are so many people afraid of beauty?
I am drawn to you like a moth
To the bright, glowing flame of your eyes
They can beat, but never break, you
Who could break a spirit as wild as yours?
Yes, you may kill me.
I see your muscles quiver as if in anticipation
I see your eyes calculate the distance between us
I see your body leap -
One hundred pounds of beautiful strength and glory.
Like a lover, I meet your embrace.
No, I cannot feel your claws.
It was not a suicide
It was a sacrifice.
The time of the hawkmoth is here
At dusk they come from their places on the bark
And softly seek on trembling wings
Drawing circles against the moon
With a persistent, gentle hum.
They are searching the paths of the night
Exploring the deep, rich scents for a vital essence
A perfume powerful and sweet.
They are entranced with the scent of sex
Their small bodies aching with need.
They fly through the soft streams of the dark
So far escaping the claw of the owl, the tooth of the bat
Then, drawn through the windows trap
Made a prisoner by these four walls
A perilous quest cut short by a star encased in glass.
By morning, they spin lazy circles upon the carpet
I cast a sad eye upon their tattered beauty
Sweep them up into a dust-pan
And softly cast them out into the yard.
They fall down gently to embrace the fallen leaves
Then become as leaves themselves.
The wind scatters leaves down the empty corridor
Civilization has deserted this place
Only the low hum of flies
Denotes the presence of life.
But the moon throws her light on a different scene
The same abandoned buildings come to life
Slanted eyes gleam in the shadows
The night is alive with cats.
They are masters of another world
A land of shadows and strong scents
A world of terror for most
It is their birthright.
Their sinuous forms wind around the ruins
Their graceful shapes glide from shadow to shadow.
Even if you don't see them, you know they are there.
Their society is complex, they build their lives upon
A unique cat culture
A civilization of cats thriving upon our refuse.
We see mainly the old, the weak
And pity them.
But the strong remain unseen, their cunning is immense.
Deep inside the ruins, pulses a perpetual heartbeat.
They breed beneath the moon
Their chilling cries
Rise upon the night.
Each cat is a king in his country
While we are slaves in ours.
Their freedom is well worth our envy
They choose to live on what we leave behind
But they can survive without us.
Every night, beneath the moon
They hunt while I sleep
Sometimes they invade my dreams
Intangible, unseen, but never forgotten.
SOARING EAGLE
Bird of the sun
Speak to me.
Tell me of the wide, clear spaces
You traverse.
Tell me
Of that caressing breeze
Fluttering feather-ends
And thermal currents
Upon which you soar
L i n g e r i n g l y
then
s
w
e
r
v
e
Or dive
d
o
w
n
into the thickness of a field.
Tell me
Of the movements below
Your eyes -
Ever reaching
Ever seeing.
Tell me because I need to know.
I swear
One day I'll fly.
Not on my own wings
But on wings borrowed from
My dreams.
Then I can say
LOOK! I know
What you said is true
And it is beautiful
Yes
There is no other feeling like it
On earth.
MOVEMENT IN THE GRASS
Movement in the grass
Green eyes flash
Soft paws pass
Across the space between.
What's the stir?
An erratic bug?
An insects whirr?
A mouse amongst the stalks.
Ears turn to catch a sound
Locating prey
Tail swishes along the ground
Mouse freezes, aware of threat.
The hunter and the prey
Locked inside
This moment of a day
As brittle as thin ice.
The cat, the mouse.
The moment breaks.
The hunters pounce.
Splayed claws reach and miss.
The mouse has gone.
Cat feels foolish
Turns with scorn
Away from the mouse-hole in the grass.
But the mouse must know
The time will come
Those claws will show the end
To movement in the grass.
The venomous, wicked fangs gleam
The poison beads upon the tips
Death lies in my hands
In completeness.
If there were ever an allegory for death
This must be it
A physical manifestation
Of all deaths.
Collecting death in tanks and cages
Incubating the swift reptile
Nurturing the fatal hatchlings
All so far away.
I see no enemy in the grass
Only fascination.
Each glittering scale
Caresses the grass.
The dry scales against my fingertips
Hypnotized by their beauty
Easy now to see
How Cleopatra held the asp
Like a baby to her breast.
She embraced her death
As one who loves the serpent.
Sometimes I see my future
Mirrored in its eyes
I am drawn closer.
There is danger in such fascination
Of death -
The still waters ripple
It is gone.
My fingers ache
As I still long to hold it
My desire should be terror
For my heart knows
To hold death so close
Would be my end
To caress my tiger snake
Until it becomes my asp.
LOOK INTO MY EYES
Look into my eyes.
Can you see the dark earth, the still pools
The shadows of the past?
The flames lick at my feet and stroke my thighs
Can you see that fire will not destroy me?
Once my flesh ignites, my soul flies free.
Look, look! You think that I am shallow
That I exist upon the simple and the ordinary
But food cannot sate me, drink cannot quench me
I am ravenous.
Look into my eyes.
Can you see the open plains, the sunlit spaces
the long, slow journey?
The flames are higher now, they caress my breast
They sear my sides like quick razors of light.
My eyes stare straight ahead
They will reach infinity.
The fire is hot, but my hunger is fiercer
The hunger of soul.
Look into my eyes.
Can you see the green forest, the cool glades
The uplifting wind?
The flames now ignite my hair, shrivel my scalp.
Before my eyes burn, before the vision ends
And you can no longer tell my eyes from holes
Look into them once more.
Do you see the things I described
Or just your own reflection?
SILVER BLUE
Silver blue.
I have found you in the depths of silver blue.
Not knowing my tomorrows
But touching on eternity
So closely
So completely
As if the moon has melted into time.
Where the dark wave meets the shore
The curlews call
Tears at my soul.
The shadows rush across the ground
I know that I have found you.
Colossal mammoth of the sea
I hear your voice through
Leagues of silver blue
Into my world, the sky
And my forever
Frozen in an instant of sweet, melodious tones
And touching, briefly,
The hugeness of your mind
As if a pilgrim
Seeking your inward shrine.
Dear cat, if I could trade...
Your eyes for emeralds bright and rare
Your fur for the whitest, softest gown
Your warmth for a hot and bubbling spa
Your miaow for the strains of a violin...
If I could trade your presence for a hundred servants
Your speed for a sleek and sporty car
Your grace for nights at the French ballet
Your beauty for a rose-garden...
Well... I would not.
What use to me such fortune
Without my cat to share it?
Poetry Home - The Wolf Within - The Time of the Hawkmoth - Soulblade - Swallows