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Open Poetry #46
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Lightning and The Baby: two poems
| Open Poetry #46 |
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Lightning and The Baby: two poems |
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Bastet Member
since 2010-05-07
Posts 246 |
LIGHTNING Lightning’s an artist of momentary installations, kindling strange fires in the night rain, expiring in a snapshot of sparks dotting a tableau with yellow flecks. It quavers over the roof of a hut on a lonely shore, making the lake wider to join the sky. It sizzles on the foam of white-crested waves, painting a rainbow in the moonlit fog. It brightens the downy swan’s body, neck reversed, head under wing, shunning the tempest. It’s all an illusion, of course, a mirror we view darkly each image given only once. THE BABY Birth often happens at night, by noiseless moonlight --- her crude roundness lying in the cobalt dew, her huge tiredness hanging on the mountain ledge where the valley doesn’t dare whisper an echo and wind roams about in wordless fear Who knows how long she’s lain there, at nature’s earnest insistence, trembling with her body’s deep connections, she doesn’t understand. Then, suddenly, a sack of rainbow silk appears --- a slender hoof creates a bulge, water spills in a sliver cloud, a soft white muzzle bursts out like soap suds, breathing in the clay-blue air. He is born perfect; he spreads his wings --- the mirror image of the tiny horse reflected in the depths of her dark eyes. |
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Eldest Member
since 2010-06-15
Posts 177Alabama |
I like both of these, but the last one speaks volumes to me, I love it. |
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Bastet Member
since 2010-05-07
Posts 246 |
Thank you, Eldest. Having had only one comment one these poems, I really appreciate your interest. |
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easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
I enjoyed reading these. Both paint true images with well-chosen words very skillfully. Also, the juxtaposition of the momentary lightning with the momentary birth is appreciated. |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
Then, suddenly, a sack of rainbow silk appears --- a slender hoof creates a bulge, water spills in a sliver cloud, a soft white muzzle bursts out like soap suds, breathing in the clay-blue air. I have heard the birth of a foal described many times but never with the poetic expertise that you have written here. A very clever post my friend. much enjoyed. Lindsay |
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