Posted by: Ron DuBour | October 21, 2015

Skiver-man~by Norman Wilson





Pacing steps of a force calling
Too and throw, too and throw
In crooks of an outlying place
Where paper scraps always blow

He comes on the winds the Skiver-man
Then in a magical way, he seems to go
Unabated by the winter winds
To the fresh shovel of new fallen snow

On winds with leaves in tiny swirls
Before the storm’s lasting wheeze
In pant of gasping funnels in tunnelling air
To seize in breath of final breeze

Mud and wind in quicken sand
Where he reaches up from a crushing low
Hatched below by a slayers hand
Bogged in arresting fields mired in snow

The Skiver steps in wake of dark swell
Beyond the four corners, in keeping
Keeping separate earth and hell
Where scrap papers lay for the sweeping

Eyes white in ghostly form
Skiver-man comes anew, reborn
Upon the steps in windswept corners
Across the dell in changing borders

From paper scraps and raggedy leaves
Before the last blow of the Skiver-man
His inflated blow is close to comatose
As the winds sift away in quicken sands

All rights reserved 10/15/15
Norman Francis

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