Monday, 25 November 2013

A poem by Mira Borghs


Dogs barking messages,
through the woods,
woody arms waving,
on forest breath,
showing the light,
on places of spells,
one of many,
legends unfolded,
of ancient times,
lapricorns, migits and faeries,
the wolf howling,
its way,
maybe showing yours,
old witches,
with bubbly skins,
of a witchy time,
voodoo lyar puppets,
tied to human hands,
telling stories,
talking without,
mouths moving,
with the longest noses,
the river always wandering,
sometimes houses,
small and camouflaged,
sitting on the bench,
thoughts drifting away,
carried by the continuous stream,
the sun touching our faces,
warming up our bodies,
as a comfortable cloak,
waking up,
by birds as witches,
that fly by,
dogs start barking again,
from one to the other,
all along the Semois,
stones show tracks,
of the ancient icy times,
when this place,
and the South,
were still one,
many a painter,
put a donkey here,
hairy ones,
and woody ones,
to conjure a canvas,
some by night,
some by day,
some in the never,
where the dogs bark messages,
in every village,
drawings on the walls,
of horses and farmers,
with heads bent down,
passing the fields,
with golden barrels,
while following the Semois,
speaking to the elfs,
of old stories,
up and down,
as every house owns a hill,
while babies sleep like roses,
in layers of curling water,
eating the trout,
that pass us,
while walking,

Mira Borghs was born in the city Sint-Truiden in Belgium. Since childhood she has loved being creative in writing, drawing, painting and performing on stage. At university in Brussels and Leuven she studied Dutch and English Linguistics and has worked as a teacher of these two languages. Under the influence of many various literary works, she has written English and Dutch poems on voyages, art, love and in 2013 her book, a dark romantic story Last Feast has been published by Lapwing Publications.

No comments:

Post a comment