Skip to main content

Fearsome by Survival

 Sharing today with The Sunday Muse #189, where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece!



On a web-white, wool-quiet morning
I found the girl our stories gave us
The one who survived

She wore the meadow, carded and sewn
Long since burned for field
Still, she knew me

Her stories named me fierce, feral
She might have feared 
The one who devours

Neither of us spoke, patient at morning
Breath, warmth, silence
Innocent of power

We know the stories kill us both
We know that we become
Fearsome by survival

Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half. 

Anyway.

Looking forward to replacing the doomscrolling with reading poetry. :) Hope the week is kind and the words plentiful!

-- chrissa

Comments

  1. It looks like we saw the same thing in this picture! I like the short 3-line stanzas here, and "she wore the meadow, carded and sewn."

    ReplyDelete
  2. This gorgeous poem is full with wonder and strength my friend. The image does speak survival to me as well. I love this poem Chrissa!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. This poem is wonderful, from first word to last. Really really good work! I love the web-white wool-quiet morning especially.

    ReplyDelete
  4. The force of narrative power behind the quiet words just takes my breath away, Chrissa. All the versions of the tale of girl and wolf meld into one in this silent meeting between survivors. I am rapt with wonder.
    Pax,
    Dora

    ReplyDelete
  5. This is incredible—one of the best poems I’ve read in a while.

    I especially love “Innocent of power.”

    ReplyDelete
  6. A meld of the innocence and the wild in our beings
    Nice one Chrissa
    Thank you for dropping by my blog today

    Much💜love

    ReplyDelete
  7. "She wore the meadow, carded and sewn" - wow, that weaves so much intricacy. Terrific ending.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I love every stanza of this, and I especially love that it is told from the viewpoint of the wolf. The tension under the well-crafted images builds to that last stanza, which has the stark impact of personal/universal truth. Really one of my favorites of yours, Chrissa; it has resonance for me, featuring as it does both a changeling and a power out of our imaginations.

    ReplyDelete
  9. This is exquisite, fine writing! Happy Sunday, no silence allowed ….

    ReplyDelete
  10. The second stanza is truly beautiful...there is a special art in wearing a meadow.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I love that descriptive first line and the tone-setting of the next two.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Full of allusions and illusions? Beautiful writing, Chrissa.
    Warm today but cooler and cooler coming. Out of the corner
    of my eye I saw a 37 low for us this on a weekend night. Brrr ...
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  13. We know that we become
    Fearsome by survival

    Love the close Chrissa! It' s warm, lull before the storm

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  14. You wrote, and please know, I read. Though these days, I’m nearly blind of eye, and debilitatingly arthritic of fingers — I placed this prepared comment here as an ongoing thank you for sharing your words. I am grateful to be able to visit , and I will do so as long as I am able. I appreciate you opening your soul, Chrissa.

    ReplyDelete
  15. "She wore the meadow, carded and sewn"

    Gorgeous words and imagery, Chrissa!

    ReplyDelete
  16. Oh this poem is exquisite writing....Love this line " She wore the meadow, carded and sewn"

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Blue Fields Far Below

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties.  A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles  Someone washed the blue skies and she knows  It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home.  Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom).  -- Chrissa

Once Upon a Future Past

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

Flagrant

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :)  Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air.  Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2  at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...