I write poetry about love and loss, what I observe, experience, and pine for. I’m an acrobat, yogi & mom. My writing has been described as resiliently defiant.

Saturday Poetry Prompt: asking the crows

Image by author, November 19, 2021

The crow — the voice
the sounds you ask about
I was going to question, but
the and got between

her oil-blue wings as they
spread joy from her soul
lucid cerulean cravings
effervescently defining that

line of demarcation
filling her lungs with every
flight and every jittery
wish making her rainbow orbit

around the moon
cloaked in apprehension
every caw caw tickling
her skin sounds tackling

her voice

like some kind of
roadside kill, a second
thought reduced to split-
end feathers and

oil-diluted absoluteness
sinuous and coiling
down the pavement
like her voice

gritty with crunching
tamed by the shrieking oil
flossing her heart
in between hope and reality.

Ann Marie Steele

~This piece is in response the much-appreciated Saturday Poetry prompt that J.D. Harms posed:

Saturday Poetry Prompt: the crows talk too

“To hatch a crow, a black rainbow
Bent in emptiness
over emptiness
But flying” — Ted Hughes, Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow

Photo by Marek Okon on Unsplash

The crows hatch in batches

batches spawned after colorless nights — scorching nightmares spilled over into morning as I rain coal tears

tears salty, dripping velvet down my cheek in the blue hour of morning

mourning for this nightmare to morph its black feathers red again with blood

blood to tint my rainbow arching across this empty bent sky

sky bent by sunflowers — each crow perched committing colors to my mind

mind wandering

wondering when coal tears won’t rain down my cheek
after I dream of crows

crows and eternal flight

at night.

Ann Marie Steele

In response to J.D. Harms’ prompt:

Saturday poetry prompt: mourning transitions

Photo by Fulvio Ciccolo on Unsplash

“What a horrible thing yellow is”— Edward Degas, French impressionist/realist painter

Truth bubbling from my honeycomb tongue
drip, drip popping tangerine shots
ripe with hope cloaked in liquid amber scents
close but no cigar as these burning embers float

twirling dancers pirouetting an indelible impression
scorching from my pen tossing snake…

Wednesday Prose Poetry Prompt: Let There Be Night

Sunrise October 20, 2021, A1A Southbound on the way to work, Guana River Preserve Area, South Ponte Vedra Beach, FL

Evading a velvety-cloaked midnight and the nimbus hours of dusk
this raging orb —rancid with reparation despite the night’s usual respite

rebelliously rising — anew— broiling its billowing satin smoke to
the royal hues of the blue hour — that fifth season*

a land of in between— dreaming about lions…

Ann Marie Steele

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