The Quail, by Semy Marin
A First Post From My Sister's Collection
I’m thrilled (and very honored) that my sister has given me permission to publish her poetry here on From the Mountains of the Sun. I’ve started a separate page for her work under her pen name Semy Marin. The posts will go out automatically to all subscribers as usual.
I’m hoping to post her work at least twice a month. I can’t very well add the backstory, etc. with hers, so you will be able to enjoy it without commentary!
Her first poetry collection, Sparrow and Meadow, will be available within the next couple of weeks if all goes well… We have stuck slightly on completing the cover, but those difficulties should soon be surmounted!
Meantime, here is her depiction of quail. I hope you enjoy her vision and her artistry with words as much as I do!
Somewhere in his grassy, tousled haunts
A small quail whistles. And hides. And flaunts
His regal topknot—in one note,
And at one time, a timid, imperial, sunny mote,
And scuttling shadow; evading sight
And dancing to his love’s delight.
I imagine him a dappled round fruit
With toes like jewelry, voice like a flute–
Little sprite of summer, bright, rotund.
He, feathered like Solomon in lilies’ glory, creeps close to ground;
But now and then whistles; and all who hear
Hear the voice of summer–furtive–clear.
—from Sparrow and Meadow by Semy Marin