Friday has hidden places


Photography by John Neville Cohen

Friday has hidden places
By Annette Marie Hyder

and secrets to share.
Walk softly through her shadowed ways.
The right turn will show you green
even in the midst of winter’s snow.
A sacred place rioting with growth
a lover’s touch in a cathedral overgrown.

Happy Friday!

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The answer to Thursday riddle poem #3

Thursday riddle poem #3
By Annette Marie Hyder

My black gaze
is born of evergreen.
My provenance is global.
The places I’ve “bean”
could fill considerable pages.
“The bitter invention of Satan”, I’ve been
blessed by a pope and lauded by sages.

The sweet steam of wakefulness
the aroma of clarity —
some find their day incomplete
until they have been with me.

I can make your hands shake
I can make your pulse blip
but I’m also good for you.
So come take a sip.

What am I?

Coffee.

Crackling Crown

By Annette Marie Hyder
(From the Night Fairytales series)

In the fall, when I let you go

and this was just before the snow

nothing remained of you or your touch.

Only the leaves, where we lay down

only the leaves, clung to my hair

a crackling crown of memories.

Thursday riddle poem #3


By Annette Marie Hyder

My black gaze
is born of evergreen.
My provenance is global.
The places I’ve “bean”
could fill considerable pages.
“The bitter invention of Satan”, I’ve been
blessed by a pope and lauded by sages.

The sweet steam of wakefulness
the aroma of clarity —
some find their day incomplete
until they have been with me.

I can make your hands shake
I can make your pulse blip
but I’m also good for you.
So come take a sip.

What am I?

Take a guess.

Click here for the answer.

(If the world were flat and Wednesday were a boat)


Image by Heiko Döhrling


Wednesday is a boat with rigging of stars
By Annette Marie Hyder

and sails made of half of a moon
on a course for the end of the world/week.
At the edge of the world roars a mighty white cataract
over which you might tumble and fall
but you might also keep sailing right into the sky.
Steady on, hold your course, use your heart as a compass.
Wednesday is nauticaling by.

Not Titan, Nor Nephilim, Nor Rephaim, He

By Annette Marie Hyder

An angel, colossal and brooding supine
on the ground
covering miles with one outstretched arm
looks as though it’s carved of marble
in the blue-saturated twilight.

White tongues of cold flame flicker
as they fall hissing
swelling the snow with more of the same
and silently adhering to the back of the great angel
they become so many feathers on his wings.

There is no copper serpent
no idol of beaten gold
no staff bearing almond blossoms
and weight untold.

There are no warm metals
when the angel of winter spreads his arms
and pulls all the small round globes
of warmth from the branches of the sky
and hides them in his robes.

Only silver shining
and sheening,
only silver can be seen
and the tarnishing to come.

A family of jackets

Just look at this little family of jackets. There’s a dad (far right), a mom (second from right), and two teenagers (far left and second from left). And I put this whole family on my back and carried them forth into the cold.

I’m not too proud to move with the muffled dignity of restricted limbs. I’m not too haughty to have a quartet of jackets hitchhiking on the transportation of my person. You might feel the same way too if you hied from Florida and the weather outside your Minnesota doorstep was -18º F. You too might embrace the idea of a family of jackets to warm your shaking limbs.

Happy Monday!

PS The schools are closed again today.