frondy ashes
clasp squiggles of sun,
trickle the heat
across whispers
while breeze
tousles their manes,
airy green foams
above centurial brawn.
who touches these tomes,
learns from the roughs
of their grimalkin bark?
their midlife knotholes?
their sapling dreds?
who remembers them
when dreaming under plaster
as they sentinel midnight,
sighing?
Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA
5 comments:
Chris Crittenden lives near a lighthouse in a remote coastal area. There are no traffic or street lights nearby. He believes poetry is explifies the depth and honesty to which humans can attain. Some recent acceptances are from Poems Niederngasse, Poetic Diversity, DMQ Review and Thick With Conviction. He thanks you for reading his poems!
Lovely piece, especially 'grimalkin bark'
"trickle the heat
across whispers"
is perfect
and it's more than words...it's
what happens.
Great choice this poem Juliet.
Best wishes,
Davide
I remember them....they have been here much longer than I. They teach us if we pay attention.
Great write...much enjoyed.
Very strong imagery, highly compressed. First-rate work all the way!
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