Red Clay

Twenty little fingers soiled,
Before we even started with
Sending drops of glass
Towards their destination.

You dug a hole just big enough
To press your little fist
Snug into the ground.
Just like dry blood, you said.
I told you not to mind the red clay
Stuck behind your fingernails.

I scrapped it off, the clay,
And washed it off my hands,
And rinsed my fingers cold,
And look at pearly crescents gleaming.
And I see blood soaked hands,
And never mind the red clay now.

© jsmorgane (Nov 2004)

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Published in: on August 28, 2010 at 10:35 pm  Comments (3)  
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Intervention

A tilled and freshly sown field,
A scarecrow sadly hanging his head,
When suddenly he grows big-bellied with a breeze,
Secretly winking at the crows
To set them all aflutter
And grant a chance to every little seed.

© jsmorgane

Published in: on August 10, 2010 at 7:53 pm  Comments (3)  
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I see your face singing

I see your face
And hear it sing
A song as way of life.

I watch you sing
And with my fingers
Trace your features.

I hear your face
And place each note
Into a pool of wisdom.

For in your face
I see a deeper music,
And deep in every song
I hear your face.

© jsmorgane (July 2010)

Published in: on August 3, 2010 at 3:34 pm  Comments (4)  
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