Amputated Moon

The dead are whispering

with the fallen leaves,

their voices dry and rasp.

Moths in a spider’s web;

the bodies shriveled

but papered wings hold fast.

At tide’s edge, waves rise high

up and over the sand

where driftwood bones are cast.

And the moon overflows

a dark eastern sky

filled with copper and brass.

This, the day of the dead

is upon us all—

death over life surpassed.

Pamela Olson, 10/31/08

The alder leaves

only haunt the tree

mere ghosts now

in this late season

Torn and tattered

beyond green

they move through fall’s

littered landscape

Bite by bite the season

consumes each leaf

until it slides

from sky to earth

Only branches remain

tipped with ternate cones

and a lichen-mottled trunk

waits for rebirth

Pamela Olson, 10/27/08

Stone balanced upon stone

leaf upon a branch

w

a

i

t

sand grains on the dune’s apex

eyes before a dream begins

w

a

i

t

seafoam pushed forward on a wave

my heart between contractions

w

a

i

t

wait and I shall let the wind  blow

Pamela Olson, 10/22/08

For Poefusion’s Tuesday Title

“I shall let the wind blow”

I’ll tell you how the sun rose—

slowly over the misty horizon

bruised by night’s compression

purple and dimpled with dew

second by second the light changed

never ending transformation

and darkness fell to its knees

Pamela Olson, 10/19/08

Line from “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson”

edited by Thomas H. Johnson (Poem #318)

Written for the prompt “never ending”

at One Single Impression

Outside the kelp forest

Oh golden forest

swaying in transparent rivers

floating in the dusk-light

hold fast to life’s dance

hold fast to the day

here in the sweet dimness

evening is the whole day

Pamela Olson, 10/15/08

For One Single Impression, “gold”

and

Poefusion’s Tuesday Title,

“Evening is the Whole Day”

desire and need float down

light as an owl’s feather

down from the branches

down from the heavy sky

laden with harsh sunlight

burdened with the heat of day

down float the wishes

down float the dreams

soon—almost now

night will rise

up from the shadows

up from the umbered earth

vision will return

at day’s passing

and with night comes the hunt

the fulfillment of being

Pamela Olson, 10/7/08

For Poefusion’s Tuesday Title

the words were hoarded for years

locked tight onto pages

bound in books

shoved onto scraps of paper

lost and occasionally found again

piled here and there

just in case

semi-ordered chaos

words that are perfect

letters that shout out

some sound like singing

some are stones in my mouth

embedded in tissue

ink scars and memories

to be used someday

somewhere

they whisper to me

not yet

not yet

Pamela Olson, 10/6/08

For Poefusion’s Monday Mural

Artwork Torn Notebook, 1 by Flowrbx

I have walked beside the ocean

foot steps filling with sea water

stones clap in joy beneath my feet

tickled by each receding wave

never turning my back to the sea

I have sat among the driftwood

lost and found again

white bones of once-trees

stripped bare of life

cradled in winter’s debris

never turning my back to the sea

I have rested in the dunes

sand warm as my mother’s lap

holding me close within her arms

my eyes watch the ebb and flow

serrated sea grass whispering in my ears

never turning my back to the sea

Pamela Olson, 10/3/08

Pamela Olson 10/2/08

This one is for Poefusion

Tuesday’s Title:  “Listening

to the colors of my mind.”