Three Poems by Carolyn Mary Kleefeld

Crispy Poems

The heavy, moist breath of God
infuses the holy darkness.
As we walk through the black prayer
of this biting cold night,
our souls, regenerated,
return to origin.
The rusty red, green
and yellow-tinted leaves
are like crispy poems,
stars fallen of the seasons.
Their colorful rhymes carpet our stroll.
In the autumn silence,
the heaven’s constellations glitter,
like codes from unknown entities,
revealing their distant presence.

And this prayer into blackness
becomes our gossamer balm.

The Diamond Buckle

She was partly turned on
and partly turned off.
And in between
was her diamond buckle
sewed onto an old leather belt.

Yes, partly turned off
and partly turned on –
passionate in dream,
a discomfort with life.

Yes, on and off with
a diamond buckle
and the old leather belt,
demanding she live.

Then blossomed a spring time
when her rhythms swept her
beyond her belt –
and threw away the buckle.

She ran free as a child
dancing with the wind.
And the wild beasts
devoured her discomfort.

Life had digested her anew
And by some mysterious token,
lent beat to her once-withered heart.

She rode on the back
of a white egret’s tail.
And dropped her fallen self
to the sea…

Watching it dissolve into salt.

Winter River

The winter’s river holds my soul
coldly in its flow, as it carries me with
other broken and stray branches to
the infinite sea.

Leaving the muddy shores
of a stranded existence,
I return to the seminal womb
from which all futures spawn.

Above, drifting by in poetic melody,
transparent bards of mist wing the air.

And the winter river flows on . . .

Carolyn Mary Kleefeld