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Open Poetry #39
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Greener Grass
| Open Poetry #39 |
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Greener Grass |
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Grinch Member Elite
since 2005-12-31
Posts 2929Whoville |
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).] |
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| © Copyright 2006 Grinch - All Rights Reserved | |||
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ThisDiamond Member Rara Avis
since 2002-02-22
Posts 9353Michigan, USA |
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. |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
incredibly superb metaphors wonderfully complex...green petticoats some day, I might write as well as you naw |
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TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
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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