Fer de Lance

The greenlee hunter fae th’

Canopy above

Drops doon in silent malice.

Fair game we ur all.

Our necks, th’ tender spot.

Snakes like rain

Drop doon upon us

Death rattle an’ th’ mortal scream

Waves at oor feet, nae a grain

O’ sand reminds me o’ home.

Th’ air is howfin’ o’ rotting things

that hae washed upon th’ shore

Th’ air ishowfin’ o’ rotting things

Of t’e deid an’ dying beyond th’ tree line.

Silent eyes o’ th’ hunter

aglow even in th’ dark

Silent, movin’, curious

About th’ streenge hairy beings

We mus’ be

Night sounds, sometimes silence

Will th’ next sound I hear

be th’ gurglin’ of me slitted throat?

Whaur was tha’ warm breeze 

I felt all th’ weary night,

or th’ rhythm awe th’ night wings

flyin through th’ faurest trees?

Or th’ name tha’ I cried faur

When I was lost in th’ dark?

Canopy above

Drops doon in silent malice.

Amused by our innocence Fearful o’ what we have brought.      

About jedwardnajera

I am an artist and a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I published several novels. Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, Dust of the Moon are among them, available through Amazon Books. I have spent over thirty five years in a classroom. I am now retired from that profession. My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium. He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years. Now I am continuing the tradition by posting my own stories and misadventures. I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
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