Wings ring my temples.
At times, they flap,
their great éclat emulating
the birdheart’s elation with just beating.
Other times, they balk,
become a hulk of blind raptor,
shafts splintering eyes’ dim.
Worms, as if they were thoughts in seeded earth,
interlace the frayed feathers,
try to seize space,
make a way for creased daylight,
but all those mites that birds are prey to
suck at these ribs
Noble flight winds down
to dead buzz,
but the heart hears only
that it’s beaten.
Here’s a sort of poem for Grapeling’s Get Listed prompt on With Real Toads, Grapeling (Michael) posts a word list related to the film Dead Poet’s Society, and writes a lovely piece about the sadness around the death of the wonderful Robin Williams. (Check it out!)
I’m not sure the picture above is quite finished, but it is one of mine. All rights reserved.
Ps this poem has been edited since first posting.Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, Uncategorized comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.