Cracks form in the pottery
as the clay flexes -
The grooves filled in
with opalled glaze
to form paralyzed rivers -
All movement frozen
in the heat of a moment -
Imperfectly stunning -
I wonder if I’ve left traces
under the fingernails
of God
-
© christine DINGLEY 2013
They burned this island
three years ago.
Bleach-white bones splinter
fall upon themselves
into the blackened flesh.
The deer have left the island
only the flies remain.
This corpse explodes with life -
a stag turns its branchéd crown.
The stone oracle still stands
but in the end it crumbles
and only the flies remain.
© christine DINGLEY 2012
There is a dungeon in my throat
for all the words I will not say
There the guards are many
Prudence, Kindness, Wisdom
but chief among them is Fear
It is Fear that will chain up at times
proud words, vulnerable words
all to keep me safe
But I feel them languish there
and wither in the Silence
With vengeful words, greedy words
rattling their chains
I tremble with such pain
I am quaking with such Rage I wish
To let the prisoners go
Soundless
flitting by my ear
a flash of brushed tin
by the lamplight
Cautious
I cup my hands together
mid flight around it
in a living cage
Hopeless
this fae creature bumbles
its blows more gentle than
the bat of an eye
Joyous
flees my touch in a heartbeat
of tiny grey-gold wings
dust painting my palms
© christine DINGLEY 2013
Heading home on the river
following the subtle palmistry,
Scrying the clouds for future storms,
divining the wind in the sinking leaves.
Read the rune-stone markers,
then cast them into the waters.
A midnight passenger on the sliver-sky
the mirror-vein,
sailing through the night
by the Yggdrasil charts
and the lighthouse-moon
the crystal moon.
And the stars
o the stars
will guide me home.
© christine DINGLEY 2012
for Oliver
your parents may never tell you
but your first three days
you were nameless
you were all at once,
a missionary’s man,
a pensive philosopher,
a great warrior,
the founder of an empire.
in those three days
your fate was yours alone
your destiny unknown
i still believe
you are made for greatness
© christine DINGLEY 2012
When do I become more
than the sum of my symptoms?
When do I become more
than a jumble of diagnoses
a tangle of chance alleles
and happenstance chromosomes?
Neurons – Wikipedia – Creative Commons
When do I become more
than the division of cells
more than the product
of nature and nurture?
When do I become more
than the tally of objectives
a list of could-have’s
and should-have-been’s?
When do I become
a person?
© christine DINGLEY 2012
