Spinneret

Spinneret

Last night, I threw a spider in the yard

A small black star, hurtling towards

a billion blades of grass.

When he hit, did he lift

His eyes and see the stars

His old brothers whose webs

will shimmer and stretch

when our world has bloomed

and gone?

And did his tiny heart sing just

a little: a spark, a simple sigh…

for nothingness, the gentle thread

That binds us all with light

~Wolff Bowden

Call of The Muse: The Winterlings

Winterlings food

The Banjo and The Pony

The Banjo and The Pony

As I remember, it was near Christmas

and my father let me choose.

One was a mammal, and I was just seven

so I chose the one with hooves.

But sometimes I heard that banjo unchosen

when I lay down in the dark

and I swear that the notes rang

like the hooves of my pony

as I rode him across our farm.

My pony he grew into a stallion

and he ran so fast it stung.

Fireflies died against my chest as we’d ride

and wind blasted hard through my lungs.

But where was the banjo I’d forsaken?

Where were the notes I’d never played?

Sometimes I’m sure we all are haunted

by the songs that got away.



~Wolff Bowden & The Winterlings

We looked at an old motorhome but it had a propane leak and no hot water and lots of wasp nests and other troubles like a broken ladder and a mouse with a very tiny face who seemed annoyed for no apparent reason when we lifted a cushion

The Winterlings in Charlotte with a Belly Dancer and Visual Artist on stage with us "interpreting" our sound.

The Winterlings in Charlotte with a Belly Dancer and Visual Artist on stage with us "interpreting" our sound.