Tag: #Poem #Metaphor

The Great Heron

Image is my own

I greeted the Great Heron

With a hello.

Then asked for some wisdom

Or some secrets of the earth.

 

But the Great Heron

Didn’t bother with a no.

Just a fluff of feathers

Before turning away

Without being troubled

To even look at me.

The red wing black birds

Chittered away in laughter

As the gentle doves

Cooed soothingly.

 

The crows cawed,

Rather obnoxiously,

About time running down.

I said I knew

And was aware of the beauty

In lessons along the way.

Even in the lessons so painful

You thought they might

Break your soul in two

Held a beauty in the end.

 

The crows disliked what I said,

And they couldn’t disagree,

So, screaming out a caw,

Flew away.

 

Turning his eyes to me,

The Great Heron shifted on his log,

Before opening his wings

And flying away,

Letting me know

He had nothing to say.

 

 

	


	
	






	
	

		
First Day of May
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Givingcompass.org











 




Winds and rains came today.





I tried to follow the trail





They made.





But on this first day of May,





I was not strong enough–





To let the wind take me,





To allow pelting rain to abrade away





All my accumulated grime.





No freedom could I find





Within this day of winds and rains.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Lessons
	


	

		

Dia de los muertos..makeup by June courtesy of Pintrest.com





This is the lesson of you,


Oh, the things you do teach–


Wearing your blue mantle


Lined in blackness


With your crooked fingers


Tipped in painted red do you reach


Ripping out hearts


Adding to a collection


You keep in a box.


 


Until the day of the dead,


When you light your fake fires


And scented candles,


Spread your blanket


For the time to admire


All hearts in the box of your collection,


Chant your incantations and prayers


To La Muerte for protection


From the evil you spread


And La Llorona for aid


Searching for the newest victim


From whom your red tipped claws long to rip a heart.


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Washing the World
	


	

		

Image falling into the rain by Moonlight-Rainstorm on Deviant Art




https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/05/23/weekend-writing-prompt-158-downpour/


Use the word downpour and create a poem or prose piece in exactly 88 words.  



 


It does begin with whispers of wind,


Steady, slow rhythm of fattened rain drops.


The distant rumbles begin.


Then the slight, quick flashing starts.


Soon the wind howls.


The rain beats as if a beast


Against the windows.


The rumbles, the shouting of an angry God


At the petulant child of a world.


The flashing, the cracking whip


Of our forgotten master.


The downpour is here,


The sobbing of the forgotten,


The hated, the poor,


The ones we were to love.


No ark on this horizon is seen.
	


	
	






	
	

		
The Spider’s Life
	


	

		

Image from Sue Vincent Thursday Photo Prompt




https://scvincent.com/2020/05/21/thursday-photo-prompt-painted-writephoto/


This week’s prompt ~ Painted


For visually challenged writers, the image shows a rather oriental red bridge over a  pool covered with waterlilies and surrounded by trees.



She lived a painted life.


Careful with her brushes


Always touching up


A chip, a mark, a ragged flaw


As she found them.


If she found a rip or tear


In the precious canvas,


It just would not do,


But she would oh, so carefully


Apply the much-needed glue.


No.  Not a single person could tell.


Not a single person knew.


 


No one knew the time


And care and money


She spent on this


Carefully painted life–


Of verdant grasses,


Irises of every shade


Deepest purples


To palest pinks,


The lush canna lilies,


Fragrant gardenias and lilacs,


The splendor of magnolias,


The stately cedars.


 


Everyone speaks of a gentle stateliness,


In the air of her personal dress,


Her blonde locks, and her wounded blue eyes


As they looked out


Upon the careful paint of her garden lair,


A spider inspecting her web.


But her victims knew


Of every rip and tear


And all the rot beneath the paint.


For her victims lay silent, faint


Cocooned beneath


Many coats of paint.


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Catacomb of Colors
	


	

		

Wikipedia image of Rosh HaNikra grottoes




I can hide in catacombs of colors and never look to the sky.
My blood shed, bled out in tiny droplets of all the years of parting,
dripping, draining in the darkness
And carried away, scattered to the winds,
Leavings upon the ground, seedless seeds,
Sprouting up in colorless flowers of summer without colors,
Without the dreams of sunlight on their faces,
Without fragrance sweet, divinity in scents we can never forget lost.
We learn to live with regrets taken, earned, packed away
With the mortgage of things within our hearts, within our lifetimes of meaning,
Within our trying just one more damn time,
Drifting up in clouds of long-ago cigarette smoke.
Crush this dried out husk of me,
Scatter those particles of dust to the wind
And see if colors sprout once that dust settles upon the ground,
See if there’s meaning left within their regrets,
See if there’s fragrance, some elegance of divinity within a scent
To be remembered when there is nothing,
Nothing left but this wisp of memory
Within your breath.
Let go my hand, love. Leave me wrapped in the shroud
Of all my days and regrets shared along the way
To here, this time of parting. Leave me to hide away
In this catacomb of colors.