Friday, June 24, 2011


Ruby throat rising like the sun:
beat, beat, beat, darling one!

Sliver-tongue, sliver-tongue, sliver-tongue,
tremble your way to the flower cup,

into the sheath of sweetness,
into the shell where the syrup runs.

Sweet tongue, lithe tongue, flickering wish:
Still as drumsticks, quick as fish.

Crow family groups often include a yearling, a sort of apprentice nest builder, who brings all kinds of stuff. The nesting pair pick out what's useful and show the yearling what to do with it. Every once in a while I still dash off a poem in response to the Morning Porch: I'm always so chuffed when Luisa re-uses some of the materials I've brought.


Lucy said...

I read it at first as 'silver tongue' of course. Reminded me of trying to explain that expression and its irony to French people, who nodded sagely and said 'Ah. English humour.'

I'm rather taken with those humming birds.

marlyat2 said...

Oh, now I am feeling rather dense, Dale, because I have been here before... and seen you at Lucy's as well and other places.

Like the quickness and the closure a lot!

Shall have to go see what Luisa did.

Dale said...

We've been attending the same county balls for years, Marly, but no one's ever formally introduced us :-)

The Poet's Lizard said...

May I dance wiz youze? :)

Dale said...

Hah. You're the belle of the ball, Luisa. You get to dance with whoever you want :-)