You’re the broken edge of a dream,
shattered by the abrupt intrusion
of the early morning alarm, shrill
and persistent. Roses wither
in the ice of your breath,
petals receding, clutching tight
about the bud like a tearful
school girl’s slender arms.
Dead promises are your nectar,
dripped in the dark of night
onto the hungry ground,
then lapped up by the dawn.
Rachel Westfall
August 12, 2011
A Little Scribble and an Honorable Mention
13 hours ago
7 comments:
The like the nuances of nature in your poetry.
These lines captured my attention:
You’re the broken edge of a dream,
shattered by the abrupt intrusion
of the early morning alarm, shrill
and persistent.
Thanks, Heaven; nature seems to find her way into everything I do. I suppose that's the way it should be.
promises of death
Bear forages about
the train tracks,
beside, within.
Feeding is good here
for her
and her cubs.
Boughs burdened with
hillside fruit,
grain abundant
in the grid
of wooden ties
and hard steel.
Fixed-minded,
she grazes on,
half awake in
the warm
afternoon sun.
Her reverie is
shaken by the
abrupt intrusion of
the train's whistle.
She does not know
that in
"Trains vs Bears"
the Bears
always
lose.
Don't trust the trains, Bear. Some of them don't have a driver, and they cannot stop.
I Came Up Short
I fell and falling
badly bent something amid
the frantic nervelings
now populating
my wrist-like swivel.
I no
longer know what life
could be with the stretch
and agility of clean
dreams and pure schoolboy
sleep.
Promises fail
and nectar spills from petals
dripping on dry ground.
August 14, 2011 12:14 PM
Ooooh...ouch...
Shade and Sweetwater,
K (who isn't around her Soul Sib's blog as often as she feels she ought to be)
Christopher, Kyddryn... I'd invite you both in for tea, if I could.
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