Grey, distorts the black
rise of mizzled crows.
Echoes, feathering in retreat.
Rebels with their caws.
Perched in the clinging damp
of a blind day.
Steeped in silence.
Do not disturb.
Their honeyed notes
are long lost to the fields.
Sunk in sullen soil, locked in flint.
Rasping remnants tear the surging
winter skies and pinch the heart.
Chaos, cast in black,
and robbed of a sweet song.
Martin Hodges, UK
11 comments:
Wonderful images. Particularly liked "black rise of mizzled crows".
Also liked the alliteration and confident rhythm :)
Beautiful, bleak, strangely heart-wrenching.
Oh, yes, one of my favorites of Martin's!
lyrical imagery...just lovely!
Lovely, Martin - mizzled crows, sullen soil - you have such a way with words.
Martin's words never fail to please. Another lovely poem!
Nevine
You paint an interesting picture...
Echoes, feathering in retreat...my favorite line. Beautiful!
Exquisite sound and rythm. The imagery truly sings.
Beautiful sound. A poem I will want to read again and again.
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