Friday, 15 April 2011

My Tribe by Ray Sharp

The trouble is not
with the names of flowers

how to make fire
or find my way home
on a moonless night.

I dream
of the long walk
and the endless green river.

What happened to the frogs?

The sky
is bruised
above the blood-red sun.

I live among people
with three simple rules

do not kill birds
do not pee at the water-gathering place
and I can never remember the third.


Ray Sharp, Michigan, USA

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Outstanding on three levels.... though I can't remember the third.
Nice work.

Gordon Mason said...

Interesting images and unanswered questions that make the reader want more... That's the way to leave it.

raysharp said...

Thank you Fiddler and Gordon

Mims said...

bravo! i love the mood of the poem. have you read the book "Tribes: We need you to lead us" by Seth Godin? Just thought I'd share...

Ray Sharp said...

This poem appears in my book, Memories of When We Were Birds, available at reddashboard dot com. Thanks again, Juliet