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Best Poems Written by Krow Fischer

Below are the all-time best Krow Fischer poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Krow Fischer Poem

Bran the Blessed a Variation On a Cyhydedd Fer (Welsh Traditional Form)

Where Lud gave wing, Blessed Bran doth sing
true oracle the visions bring,
from midnight’s land, bear burning brand
the Queens of old, gift Druid hand.

Shadow depth seek, sharp sable beak,
pierce psyche veils when prophets speak,
messenger calls through ancient halls
where Raven reigns the Tower walls.

Fey healer fly, the night-world sky
initiate Ovates nigh,
beckoning deep, iconic keep,
hark Raven calls to dreamless sleep.

Where Lud gave wing Blessed Bran doth sing
true oracle the visions bring,
from midnight’s land, bear burning brand
the Queens of old gift Druid hand,
the Queens of old gift Druid hand.

Details | Krow Fischer Poem

Waking moments with the strong aroma of coffee percolating throughout the house, I arise.
Drifting through the morning mists, I find my way to the kitchen where the hearth-fire
embers, still warm from the night, glow orange in the pre-dawn emptiness. Where are you?
You, who have left your plate upon my table, sticky with basil and fresh eggs? You, who’s
scent upon my skin I wear as the finest perfume, inhaling deeply into my soul, your
remembrance with every breath I take, where are you?

pastel promises
dawn labours rigid skyline
slate sky epitaph

I hurry to open the heavy wooden door, and gaze out as dawn cracks the purple sky and the
smells of spring gust through my doorways, erasing all doubt of what I know. There, fading
in the morning dew, I see your footprints luminescent in crystal light, imprinted upon the
deep green of the forest path. Your tracks are leading away, back from where you came and
where I cannot go, yet. I watch the sun climb the skyline, exposing the stark truth of
daylight, so harsh with it’s radiant glare, that I must turn away. Footprints fading, I
know you are gone, and I return to my cold fire to prepare for another day.

crocus awakens
obdurate rainbow transpires
mocking winter's shroud

Many more will come today, with gifts of food and flowers. I have run out of vases, and
places to leave condolences. Excuses for why I do not accept a visit run as dry as un-shed
tears through barren conversations. I cannot hear, and it is a great strain these
visitors; the daylight hours are too bright, and their apprehension too loud. Forgive me
if I offend, in my knowing of just where I need to be. I did not seek anyone’s advice
anyway. Looking out past worn curtains I watch for the setting. Crows gather on the
budding trees and raise ruckus in their frenzy to reunite. I know you laugh at me, waiting
as I do. I hear you in those black birds. It’s called a “murder of crows” you’d tell me.
I hear you in my mind, just as I always did, and I feel your presence as a warm breeze on
the small of my back, but it is not the same, and never was, you know this.

stark dusk descending
shadows jeer eternity
peremptory fate

Details | Krow Fischer Poem

Ariadne

Daidalos played with poison
and the gormandizing mind of a king
corrupting DNA with his brilliance.
Poseidon’s patronage,
issues from unknown depths of depravity.

Pasiphae bore this monstrosity
and carried the shame
as women do.

AyeeeI The minds of men bent inwards
without love, cannot find creation...
so seek destruction as compromise.
Convoluted cage of sacrifice,
diabolical maze of mutilation,
how many maidens and young men wander these halls of Hades
lost beyond Persephone’s care
or Hecate’s lamplit pathway home?

Asterion they called him,
to fool the masses,
as rulers and scientists are wont to do.
He was an abomination,
left over from Atlantean arrogance,
whipped into a frenzy with a poisonous brew of fungi and root
administered by his keepers,
this Taurean,
this bull man,
this Minotaur,
devouring the hope of all within sailing distance.

His sister,
sweet Ariadne,
raised on the pain and terror,
weaned on the screams of the victims,
and the unfathomable misery of her brother,
devised a plan to end his life of hell.

The Gods of creation sent Theseus,
the golden, the brave one, from the Eastern shores
and she charmed him into trusting her.
With his life in her hands,
she held a ball of the finest spun wool,
from Demeter’s flocks,
and showed him the way through hell.
Past the bones and rotting flesh
of the sons and daughters of despair,
past the gnashing and scarring of imprisoned demons,
and through the hopelessness of the devious design of entrapment,
he journeyed, trusting,
she held his way safely in her hands.

He found her brother,
captive in his lair,
already foaming and insane
having drunk the brew Daidalos concocted for him
to twist his feeble mind.
Imprisoning his senses in addiction
blood-lust and depravity was sharpened as the finest sword.
The frenzy the great men craved and created for their pleasure
revealed here as the monster it was.
So with great pity,
compassion giving him a clear head
and steady hand,
Theseus slew Ariadne’s brother
and so released the lands from the slavery of terror.

That fine wool,
soft in the hand as spiders silk,
and as strong as faith,
led him out to a hero’s welcome
and a legacy hung in the night sky
for all to remember.
Basking in God status, he sailed home to celebrate his glory.

Ariadne, mourning the life of her brother,
the corruption of her father,
the vacant eyes of her Mother,
and the abandonment of her lover
flung herself into the sea
as a final sacrifice
to Poseidon’s hunger.

Details | Krow Fischer Poem

Haiku1

grey branches shimmer
waving in blue sky breezes
chickadee lingers

Details | Krow Fischer Poem

Pateince

Carnelian robes permeate dreamtime landscapes
of parchment and prayer flag.
Smiling faces walk swiftly
through corridors of ancient walls
carved from living mountains,
spinning cylindrical wheels in their wake.

Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.

Eagle feathers jounce
as soft moccasins dance heartbeat
on the prairie hair of Mother Earth.
Sacred sisters hold position in jingle dress rhythms
offering prayer pipes to their men,
who burn sweet grass as they fancy dance past.

Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.

Hula dancers waft sea breeze
in the heat waves of Pele’s fire.
Warrior lines pace boundary between the worlds,
as molten lands part the waters
and oasis the humble in a paradise
where lei lines encircle life.

Patience of a thousand thousand years,
we wait for peace.

Condor circles as mountains spirits speak
telling stories of forever and ever.
Ancient peoples gather in raindrop mists
to nourish the living land
and feed the collective soul
the medicine of dreams.

Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.

“Imagine all the people” sound waves and ipods
park bench hosts to afternoon drummers,
as momentum gathers
inner city gardeners and beekeepers
buzzing to the cyber shifts
of “sharing all the world”.

Patience of a thousand, thousand years
we wait for peace.

Best Poems Written by Krow Fischer

Dreams

Wreathing Sonnet

Poetry Passion

Lilith

Spring

Bran the Blessed a Variation On a Cyhydedd Fer (Welsh Traditional Form)

Transitory Seasons, a Haibun

Ariadne

Haiku1

Pateince