Works that strike a chord with me:
You Are Standing at the Edge of the Woods by Mary Oliver
You are standing at the edge of the woods
at twilight
when something begins
to sing, like a waterfall
pouring down
through the leaves. It is
the thrush.
And you are just
Sinking down into your thoughts,
taking in
the sweetness of it – those chords,
those pursed twirls – when you hear
out of the same twilight
the wildest red outcry. It pitches itself
forward, it flails and scabs
all surrounding space with such authority
you can’t tell
whether it is a cry out on the
scarp of victory, with its hooked foot
dabbed into some creature that now
with snapped spine
lies on the earth – or whether
it is such a struck body itself, saying
goodbye.
The thrush
Is silent then, or perhaps
Has flown away.
The dark grows darker.
The moon,
in its shining white blouse,
rises.
And whatever that wild cry was
it will always remain a mystery
you have to go home now and live with,
sometimes with the ease of music, and sometimes in silence,
for the rest of your life.
Some of my own feeble attempts:
There are Skeletons Outside My Window
There are skeletons outside my window
I see them during the cold light of day
I hear them freeze at night
All of the time
they
disturb
me
During the day they are paltry
White, gray and decaying brown
Their limbs stretched wide
Reaching
upward
for heaven -
home
Yet they are bound here
Living, yet not
All night moaning
joints
creaking
limbs
breaking
But a day will come when
The shivers they bring
Down my stiff spine fade
Life buds
in them-
and me
again
