They gathered round
black feathers slick
drops splash against
stain the skin
flutters soft at first,
the furious, furring
sand pulling and spinning
squinted sights so beaks
restrained with golden ropes,
strained but never snapped.
On their backs
through lowered lashes
they are ephemeral
the existence makes hearts
fear to thud, so they
slip a beat to not
compete with perfection.
They are jealous,
They tower above
the wind moves not a
nary a dark hair,
with a gesture,
flippant and unimportant
the lot has dropped to its knees.
Young and old,
knobby and knobbed,
Their homage would be paid.
Their gift would be taken now.
It had all be foretold.
Years ago when the books written in a language
as buried as the long dead speaker.
And they wait.
This poem was influenced by the prompt for #OctPoWriMo. I have planned to write more poems, but I didn’t have any inspiration until I saw today’s prompt “Fantastical.” And this came up. I hope you enjoyed reading it and tell me in the comments when you hear the word fantastical, what comes to mind? If you want to share a poem, I would love that.
Also, FYI, I’m giving away a chance to be in the thank you section of Blood Roses and Honeysuckles, which is getting closer to completion. Check out the link here to find out more info.
Summertime’s green felt familiar
like paint chips leaving blank puzzle spots on
Or the grassy strands I’d watch sway with the
wind during my summertime blues.
Air carried whispers of honeysuckle and pears. That
simpering temptress, the pear tree
bearing her succulent fruit. Arms spread wide
with her green leaves shaking.
We weren’t allowed to climb her limbs,
to conquer the wild.
We could bruise the fruit.
She had the perfect footholds.
The strongest limbs.
Around her feet were her soldiers
guarding her precious wards.
Yellow jackets buzzed around, sometimes
so thick we’d avoid that part of the yard
walking up the yard to the side street above
where the neighbors’ children played
too little to hang with us big kids.
But when the winged sentinels weren’t out
the temptation grew too much
and we’d try to scamper up unseen.
Inevitably, we’d get yelled at,
my father’s voice roaring out from
the depths of the living room.
Then I’d steal a pear from her
chomping into the sweet, fleshy fruit,
sitting on the porch again.
This poem was written for OctPoWriMo. I was thinking about a few of the challenges and decided to write this. I’m going to link this up for Day 12, even though technically, it’s still the 11th here. Time is a strange concept when you’re in the slowest time zone around. I went rogue and didn’t go with the prompt.
I hope your writing is going well, if you’ve joined us. And feel free to check out yesterday’s post about The Reverie Journal and Project #WriteTube.
I’m going to try to be a bit more on the ball with this and other things. For the Day 6 prompt, it was about freedom. I wrote a quick haiku about what would make me feel the most free. I want to travel everywhere and anywhere at a moment’s notice. Or at least, I want to have that opportunity. Knowing myself fairly well, I wouldn’t want to travel all the time.
Spin the globe, pick one
Weekend, this is where we go.
World greets us open arms.
What would make you feel the most free? Let me know in the comments!