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The Thorn

The Thorn / Michael Kwack

 

It seemed a big bird had flown;

For, onto the desk of my own,

A feather was falling,

Through the air fluttering.

 

As if in a dream did I gaze:

A tiny bird it was!

 

I stretched an arm,

And the bird got on my palm.

The whole body, in bright gold,

Was the wing of this bird.

 

Should I hold it on my palm?

Let it go afloat in...

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birdfeathergoldhammernailpalmsunshinethorn

For Whom The Hammer Tolls

For Whom The Hammer Tolls

 

Dreaming of a hammer

A slow arc of deadly intent

A shaper of metal

 

The clang of contact

On a wrought iron anvil

That resonates threat

 

The white-hot sparks

From the red-hot ingot

As it succumbs

 

Weighing its power

In the palm of your hand

With a smack of skin

 

Its dull grey mass

Balanced perfectly

On a sha...

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