Swing Low, Suite
Toes high, knees low,
arms that pull and pull and pull–
look at me, I’m flying—
Sky high, arc slumped,
legs that pump and pump and pump–
look at me, I’m dying—
Unhinging every minute’s wings,
in and out of strife we swing,
one more breath marks one less breath
as we criss-cross, tossed, this heath;
mind all dart like swallows’ swoop,
mind all droop like pigeons’ roost;
feathering high, free-fall low
with arms that tethered yet do pull–
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Very much a draft poem. Not sure I can call it a sonnet, but it does have fourteen lines. Linking to Real Toads Open Platform.
Pic is mine; all rights reserved.
I will be very involved in work stuff the next couple of days and may be delayed returning comments.
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Very much a draft poem, written this a.m. Not sure I can call it a sonnet, but it does have fourteen lines. Linking to Real Toads Open Platform.
ManicDDaily 
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