Claudia Krizay Poems

The sun is a woman made of clay.
She stands above the mountain- tops
Against a red velvet sky at dawn.
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It didn’t matter if the moon was full last night, and that I did not count the stars-
Or that the birds were singing upon early morning awakening,
Forty or some odd years ago- or perhaps even before then-
A full moon evoked fantasies of fortune, mystery and desire to know
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A dying princess;
Beads scattered upon a card table
Dribbled on the floor,
Like a Salvador Dali painting;
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I live within a castle, towering,
Knit from spun glass, my mother’s yarn

Rattling within an arctic squall, torn paper feeds the fire.
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I once stood alone, then,
I followed your lead.
I slipped through your grasp, and
Fell into oblivion.
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A nightingale dropped a letter
Upon my door last eve.
Such a lovely bird of paradise, she raised my spirit-
Tormented and remorseful, and carried it to heaven.
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Somewhere
Upon my doorstep
A pink rose
Lay dying,
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Tall trees touch the sun,
As the moon follows behind,
Lost inside of a rainbow.
The sun’s rays fail to dispel the darkness,
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I chant my melody as I glance upwards towards the sky,
Though the words I do not fathom.
Rain inundates my dreamscape.
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By a thread, I hang, as the knell tolls.
Moribund and cacophonous,
Surrounded by angels of death, I am.
They chortle and laugh at me, as
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