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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
An ebon sky, darkness to light
Diamond stars, mosaic night
Bright lunar sphere of brilliant white
Floodlights a scene of will and might.
The Fiddler’s Cat, sips warm Bordeaux
Fiddle to chin, strong paw to bow
Rosin to bow on amber ice
Wide upward swing, long downward slice.
A rotund dish, the restless spoon
Race through the night below the moon.
Ah, Fiddler’s cat empties Bordeaux
Strikes violin strings, with Dante’s bow
He plays of sorrow, he plays for chance
As spirits soar, he plays to dance.
He plays of peace, he plays for hope
To love and trust, he plays the most.
Fading ebon screen, pale ginger sky
An exhausted shrug, a weary sigh.
A new ordinance decreed by spoon and dish
Keep catnip away when serving fish.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2016
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
The frozen sap of mirthless trees,
The fractured flow of icy streams.
The howling wind that claws at life,
The forest shrouded in endless white.
Skeletal ice hangs from warm lit homes,
....brittle fingers, glacial bones!
Gibbous moon with light unclean,
Casting shadows barely seen.
Wide tongues of sleet lick hands and feet,
Frost etched people on lacquered streets.
Witches Sabbat the darkest rite,
All doors are barred on Halloween night!
Children sleeping, tucked tight in bed,
While witches brooms fly overhead.
Cock’s crow sounds in the dark of night,
Putting the cabal to frenzied flight!
The children waken then start to yawn,
Their smiling faces greet the new dawn.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2016
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Swirl me, twirl me, spin me ‘round
My eyes are covered, subject not found.
Direct me here, then block me there
Smiles and snickers; won’t give a care.
Hates me, baits me, friend or foe
I stop to listen but never know.
Frizzy, dizzy, can’t find the beast
Removing blind, tail’s pinned on me!
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Fae circles of mushrooms
Lanky yellow toadstools
Firm jelly tot larvae
Feed from rich stagnant pools.
Fungal disks cling with wanton
To the grey trunks of trees
Cricket strums join to bird song
Sending messages of peace.
Lambent beams break through foliage
Gradient tones tint the scene
Yellow, purple, and whites
showcased by backgrounds of green.
Fractured rock nests bright flora
Compost mats engage moss
A place of breach and survival.
Nature's gain, (one might say)
is the product of loss.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Bracken breached hawthorn hedgerows
hide teeny folk with tiny toes.
Sheer gossamer wings; shy butterflies
Dew-drops lit by dawning skies.
Sandy hair, blue raven locks
Auburn streaks on chestnut stalks
Valley lilies invert to hats
Wee portabella mushroom caps.
Acorn shoes with resin soles
Lace gartered legs and leafy shawls
Dresses spun from brushed lime silk,
petal pinks, or white as milk.
Impish grins stoke laughing smiles.
whimsy’s sound sets music’s tiles
Curious eyes, small budded nose
cream tinted skin, pink cheeks aglow.
They live near boles of ancient trees
Drink nectar from a hollowed seed
They climb the stems of hollyhocks
They twitter but will rarely talk.
So when you take a morning stroll
pause beside to a sun-lit knoll
The calls you hear mightn’t be birds
and cricket strums won’t mimic words.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Un-nerved by formal sentencing assemblies,
Marks and Words, bound by conjunctive amenity.
The tried beliefs that short cuts speed words into action.
Made stuffy Old School feel out of fashion.
Punctuation board-slams her silver gavel;
“A shortened distance, yet far to travel.”
Marks are pushed into line to enter their plea.
Dash Dash Dash has trailing thoughts…
Comment remarks that it thinks too much.
Question Mark, curiously rotund and stout,
asks “What’s this meeting all about?”.
Proud Period, acquainted with the strident rituals of formality,
Quickly departs, leaving a daunting spot of terse finality.
Comma’s game of pause and snag,
grammatically adheres to one of tag.
Overwrought Exclamation Mark, nervously blurts:
“Unruly disorder can make matters worse!”.
Semi colon maintaining proper pauses,
Stays anchored between compelling clauses.
Colon fearful of growling barks,
snuggles closer to Quotation Marks.
Apostrophe’s like for word possession,
worries over changing word obsession
Oh, Oh! Oh? Oh…
These are shameful attempts to monopolize,
Even with trite words, of unassuming size.
.
Punctuation thinks her identity’s impaired
Might she be confused with the shrew, Grammar?
She calls to order a capitol thought.
sliding up to Exclamation Mark, shouts “’STOP!’
The object of this meeting,
Is not subject to self- beating.
No presence is here to criticize, or chastises,
nor harmonize.
If getting through is what stays true.
Will be understood by some , but always to you.”.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2016
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Aimeriez vous une chevaline rouge
Composée de sucre d’orge?
(would you like a red horse made of barley sugar?)
Vous pourriez faire la race de
Plaines aux tires d’eponge.
(you could race across sponge toffee plains)
Vous amènera à un bosquet d’arbres
Faites de réglisses à la menthe
Ou des bariolé jujubes croissent au lieu de feuilles.
(would bring you to a grove of trees
Made of mint liquorices
Where multicolour jujubes grow instead of leaves).
For Debbie Guzzi's biLingual Poetry Contest
you wished for me to write something sweet, Debs:))
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
Thoughts that thrive on scattered dreams
shoot through the mind like laser beams
Hunger echoes a hollow song
Voices merge, intestines long
Lips are dry, and tongues are parched
Memories are pressed and starched
No miming board can take the heat
Hot irons that scorch the hands and feet.
Cold days flow into brackish nights
on borrowed hopes and collared pride
Answers wrapped in braided woes
Crushed, then scattered by angry toes
Worry stalks in cleated shoes
It leaves a track of pallid blue
Just when it seems to reach the rise
It folds then doubles up in size.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Michelle Mac Donald Poem
I seek the lull--
To feel the tranquility of the night
The hush of birds in calm respite
The quiet compose of ancient trees
The muted hymn on dulcet breeze
On quiescent ridge of nocturne quest
Find soothing balm on angel’s breath.
Abeyant mind, free of hurt or qualm
Opens to Christ when faith is strong
Fearfully reached to touch a lightning rod
But found instead, the hand of God.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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