Visions of the Divine on Hare Island
       

Slapped back upon the heels
of a drum
            on the hunched-back heather

was a sliver of a myth-made-mad
on the March
            of a goddess of a Hun

turned up with Buddha
            with a lip-curled, red-raw gum.

Stood Pharaoh in a southpaw’s stance
            with his black bride
                        screaming like a wiccan
at a blind man’s dance.

Sprang panic from the Sanskrit gloom
            Bad dream, mad head
                        last seen, half-dead,

part birth, part messenger of unspent doom
            first spring seen
                        scratching on the surface

            of a still-born moon.

Tweet

Copyright © 2011 Stephen Murray All rights reserved
from House of Bees
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission