Poem for Poetry Thursday
I attempted this week's prompt, which was a good one BTW, and this is what I got. Blue is my favorite color, so maybe this month I'll do a blue series in honor of Dodge Poetry Festival. As for the poem, I don't know how to tab over in Blogger (or the html coding for tabs), so this is not the true formatting for the lines.
Like many of you, I'm having trouble with the Blogger beta. I plan on getting to as many poems as I can. But if they can't get it together, I may go medieval today. (see definition #3)
Skeptic
I love how you think the world is flat
swooping and gliding over the pines
down the road and back again.
You put up with me, the interloper,
with my picnic table and paved walking path.
This is how you roll: stealth,
swooping down, patrolling for chipmunks
I am no threat to you, which leads me to ask
what are you doing here?
Where is your open country, your high perch?
You’re a red-tailed hawk gliding on exhaust fumes.
I’ve heard your cry only in movies as the
piercing background sound denoting wilderness.
As September ducks into a passing cloud
the late heat of summer taken by hydrangeas,
those big-headed flowers stealing cerulean
from the sky. Going. Going. Gone.
Roam rusty red high above tree tops.
I’ll eat my bagged lunch and leave you
to your prey. I have not forgotten
your ability to kill.
Feeling blue? Check out the poetry at Poetry Thursday!
Like many of you, I'm having trouble with the Blogger beta. I plan on getting to as many poems as I can. But if they can't get it together, I may go medieval today. (see definition #3)
Skeptic
I love how you think the world is flat
swooping and gliding over the pines
down the road and back again.
You put up with me, the interloper,
with my picnic table and paved walking path.
This is how you roll: stealth,
swooping down, patrolling for chipmunks
I am no threat to you, which leads me to ask
what are you doing here?
Where is your open country, your high perch?
You’re a red-tailed hawk gliding on exhaust fumes.
I’ve heard your cry only in movies as the
piercing background sound denoting wilderness.
As September ducks into a passing cloud
the late heat of summer taken by hydrangeas,
those big-headed flowers stealing cerulean
from the sky. Going. Going. Gone.
Roam rusty red high above tree tops.
I’ll eat my bagged lunch and leave you
to your prey. I have not forgotten
your ability to kill.
Feeling blue? Check out the poetry at Poetry Thursday!
Comments
So many great imagse here--birds flynig on exhaust fumes, Sept. ducking into a cloud, flowers taking the heat. Beautiful!
but don't ask me about tabs,
you KNOW the problems I've had today :-(
I read this a few hours ago and keep wanting to come back... it's very good.
I find formatting poems in Blogger really frustrating. I know a certain amount of HTML and still have trouble with it, as Blogger always wants to override the code I write in order to "fix" it for me. Gggrrrr....