- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Woodland Waste
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Click hereA stillness in the forest,
A pregnant moment waits.
Birds settled, quiet expectant,
A doe and buck poised to run.
Heads up, ears lifted, muscles tense,
First the faint odor defiant,
Drifts in on wisps of white fingers.
Then the crackling sound, near and far,
Leaves, dry and brittle being broken fiercely.
Flashing glimpses of red, orange and yellow,
The meniscus is shattered; life pours forth.
Noises crescendo from creatures large and small,
Now hours later blackened stumps
Steaming in a clouded afternoon rain,
Sit as silent witness to one small match.
- COMMENTS
postobitumover 19 years agoyou built up the nervous attentiveness very well. You should do a follow up where life begins to come back, how the pine cones burst open in the heat and scattered seeds everywhere, the contrast of brand new electric green briars and tender little weeds against the ashy black and grey backdrop. (lol, guess in a way I just did!)
