Open Poetry #40 |
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Shooting Pigeons |
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Ella Blue Junior Member
since 2006-05-26
Posts 47 |
He speaks to me in pictures as we lay, buffered by that lambs wool cover of night. His voice during these hours, that of a swaggering child. He doesn’t realize that this is how I love him; when he tells me my bedtime stories. His rhythms are of sacrifice and poverty, minus those melodies of self pity; I don’t miss them. His joys have become my discoveries; thrift, ingenuity, learned survival; no Boy Scouts manual here… He is my strange love. His laughter whispers, as he tells me the best sort of glue to use on shoes, that had to last an entire season, for he and his sisters; on a single fathers salary. His memories grow fat with pride; as he recounts day long treks on apple boxes, rigged with decaying roller skate bottoms, used as makeshift box cars, for he and his inner city tribe to travel, to the shooting ground of pigeons. Aim and shoot, again and again, yet again... until containers bulged and little boy bodies, grew faint with longing for food. And then the trek back home, longer by half this time 'round; but at last they arrived, and set about preparing... for the pluck and roast. …a feast he chuckles, with his growling 2 am laughter… My strange love. [This message has been edited by Ella Blue (04-07-2007 02:22 AM).] |
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© Copyright 2007 Ella Blue - All Rights Reserved | |||
passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
what a description! wow! |
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Drauntz Member Elite
since 2007-03-16
Posts 2905Los Angeles California |
lovely! |
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Midnitesun![]()
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
an amazing, unique portrait |
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Mysteria![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Truly an interesting story in poetry. Will search out more by you, great job. |
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