Friday, April 19, 2019

Crimson In Filigree

Somewhere high up in the trees, a cardinal sings--
I cannot find the crimson in the filigree.
Cardinal, lading air with desire, a red unseen Ulysses,
I have no other to be siren for--sing for me.

My skin is newspaper, my eyes crystal bowls left behind.
The early April air, cardinal, is a sacristy
for tired robes of faded rose like love notes with edges frayed.
I have no other hymnal--so, cardinal--sing for me.

Lofty cardinal, mere bird, tireless singer, I hear you--endlessly--
but cannot find the crimson hidden in the filigree.

for this.



  1. Such a beautiful image - the hidden crimson bird. I am reminded of Shelley's Nightingale... sometimes the muse is heard but not seen.

  2. Very strong work indeed; and THANKS for the video!

  3. wow. That is all I can say and nod my head in respect.

  4. I would love such song if it were for such a wonderful robe... the blackbirds sings here, but you see it as a shadow.... Love the way you tied the song to the unseen vision.

  5. A very special write!! Crimson in filigree, the very thought, I love!!

  6. *Sigh*. When I was in Texas (13 years ago now) I saw a cardinal, just one, briefly, in the branches of a tree outside my window (so I did see the crimson in the filigree) – but have never heard one sing. Lately people keep writing about its song; I think I'll have to try and Google it to hear for myself. (On the other hand, very happy to listen to Etta James any time.) It's a lovely write about longing, and the temptation to despair when the Muse seems to have withdrawn.

  7. "My skin is newspaper, my eyes crystal bowls left behind." goodness I love that line. This is a beautiful poem.

  8. The cardinal, the not finding the crimson in the filigree - the eyes crystal

  9. The refrain works so well here...evokes powerful imagery. I can almost hear the cardinal's song!

  10. My skin is newspaper, my eyes crystal bowls left behind - oh lovely images.


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