Second Annual Blogger’s (Silent) Poetry Reading for the Feast of St. Brigid

More details at Roots Down and many other locations. My poem from last year is still available. This year, I present a poem that I’ve loved since junior high – particularly the bit about the crow.

Two Legends
Ted Hughes

Black was the without eye
Black the within tongue
Black was the heart
Black the liver, black the lungs
Unable to suck in light
Black the blood in its loud tunnel
Black the bowels packed in furnace
Black too the muscles
Striving to pull out into the light
Black the nerves, black the brain
With its tombed visions
Black also the soul, the huge stammer
Of the cry that, swelling, could not
Pronounce its sun.

Black is the wet otter’s head, lifted.
Black is the rock, plunging in foam.
Black is the gall lying on the bed of the blood.

Black is the earth-globe, one inch under,
An egg of blackness
Where sun and moon alternate their weathers

To hatch a crow, a black rainbow
Bent in emptiness

over emptiness

But flying

“I like that, Mom! It’s about black kitties, obviously.” -M