A poet’s dark gifts

When I think of you
I think of midnight multiplied
dark eyes, dark wings, dark skies

of sleepless nights
and terror bleak
of telltale hearts
and how they beat

in the twisting chamber
of a guilty consciences’ ear.

Murder looms
cunning and red
behind rooms walled off
and in soft beds.

Loss dresses up in elegance
but elegance moth stitched.
I think of all the fright of All Hallows’ Eve
with never a mention of witch

of madness most articulate
how obsessions pace the floor
and of grisly acts and abject despair
that pirouette resplendent decay
forever ever more.
— Edgar Allen Poe (on the occasion of Edgar Allen Poe’s birthday), by Annette Marie Hyder

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

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Martin Luther King’s words and acts have planted themselves in our collective psyche. They continue to grow and bear fruit in his influence on our worldview and to loosen the soil of prejudice in even the hardest, driest riverbeds of souls.

His legacy is a mighty river that waters us well, singing through our very souls. That river continues to carry us forward and to sing, deeply, movingly, its own (and our) river song.

I continue to be most inspired by those who live their lives in accordance with the principles of equality, love, and giving that Martin Luther King personifies.

Thank you, Martin Luther King, thank you today and every day!

Happy Friday! <3

rooftopballetparis
Image from “HAUT VOL” stunning choreography of classic dance on the Parisian rooftops by Benjamin Millepied

The sun’s rays pirouette
and the sun sinks gracefully–
not a dying swan —
but a phoenix that will rise again
born from the flames of its own fusion
and lured by life itself
dancing on the rooftops.
— Annette Marie Hyder

Crying from the cold

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Photo,  -7 °F,  by Annette Marie Hyder

It has been so cold that it has literally brought tears to my eyes and streaming down my cheeks — just my body (eyes specifically) protecting itself against the drying effects of the cold.

I wanted to take a photo to send to my mom so I could tell her “Look Mom! Your little girl — crying in the cold!” (I know, right? I am such a great daughter!)

I haven’t gotten a good enough one yet but I did get this one in which, I really think, my eye looks like a stylized bird profile (beak facing right).

Sunlight ran through the forest

fleet feet mazing and shade on her heels.
Darkness followed, dog-like, in ground pursuit.
She spread her wings and leapt
into the treetops
where she perched, a golden presence
until,
like the Cheshire Cat,
she faded slowly away
till only her smile,
the afterglow cupped in the topmost leave’s hands,
remained.
And then that too
disappeared
and the stars sprinkled their shimmer on every leaf
that shivered in her absence
in the forest of whispering trees
and prowling darkness.
— Excerpt from Advice the Autumn Crone Gave Me On Climbing the Wall by Annette Marie Hyder