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Open Poetry #39
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Grinch
Member Elite
since 2005-12-31
Posts 2929
Whoville

0 posted 2006-11-05 02:44 PM


The trees wave hails to morning in their sways;
Soft silvered tones on whistled breeze.
As I, fog headed, turn my legs to stroll
Past oaks who’ve seasoned better days.

Fields bare sharp edges to the raging streams,
A thigh of soil green petticoats
Peeled back so far against each rising swell
but something’s always lost in dreams.

The skylark high so all may catch its call,
“See me, see me - I walk the wind”
And I the earth my little friend, I see
Your nest and precious chicks so small.

The fox cub by the wall in red array
Those cunning eyes could catch afire
He flashes thoughts of turn or flight, but stays
For one who needs those fires today.

The barn owl ghost wears silence like a shroud,
Wise eyes that slice into the night.
I watch it swoop and then I turn for home
Back to my madness and the crowd.

[This message has been edited by Grinch (11-05-2006 06:43 PM).]

© Copyright 2006 Grinch - All Rights Reserved
ThisDiamond
Member Rara Avis
since 2002-02-22
Posts 9353
Michigan, USA
1 posted 2006-11-05 04:21 PM


Great imagery...
We seek the calm of nature, the truth of creation...seems no matter who...city or country hearts go to God when in need.
Nice write.

Midnitesun
Deputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Empyrean
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647
Gaia
2 posted 2006-11-05 06:13 PM


incredibly superb metaphors
wonderfully complex...green petticoats
some day, I might write as well as you
naw

TomMark
Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133
LA,CA
3 posted 2008-01-06 09:38 PM


Love this one.

and
"The trees wave hails to morning in their sways;
Soft silvered tones on whistled breeze."
I were wrong. You used soft tune again here.

Another favorite.

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