- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Scarecrow
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A mop of wet straw hair, a mouldy coat
that flaps against the sticks, a centre-piece
no one will notice. On my arms the birds
alight before they pay the field their dues;
wet, newly-ploughed, the strips of water will
reflect grey sky that sails on by, too proud
to wonder if it has a call to fly –
and what if life's not what I want it to,
what else can I expect? A biting wind
erodes the rills across the roughed-up field
and chilly rain will rot away the lath
that carries crossbar, unkempt straw and hat
until this manikin comes tumbling down
face forward in the mud, ignoble fall
from grace. Crows screech. Another squall.
- COMMENTS
HarryHillover 10 years agoThat marching cadence and rhymes that make your writes a pleasure to read. Line four very nice. Your enjambment is one I've never perfected, only aspired to.
greenmountaineerover 10 years agoA five too, demure. It made me think of stages of grief. I would have liked that the poem end in acceptance, rather than resignation, connoting thus a measure of peace, but that's my bias, and the ending works well with the poem's tone.
I was confused by the syntax of "too proud." I'm assuming it's the scarecrow that's too proud, but if it's the grey sky as a metaphor, I would be further confused.
ishtatover 10 years agoNice work, but one thing jarred. You will never see a scarecrow in a newly ploughed field, only in a newly planted field.The scarecrow would be in the way and it's only of use when there are seeds for the birds to steal.But a fiver still.
