|Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com|
brush the ankles of the cherry tree
precisely when a freckled
bullfrog starts its croon
up at the moon
precisely when the screams
of children fade into the pliant mud
when splashing rocks
peruse the river bottom made of pebble dots
the shadow of breath of dusk
exhales across the gilded ground
a silver cloud sent heaven bound
aches for mother, father sun,
tries to run
on red-striped wings
past the ring of phantom sky
above a canopy of trees
where star buds nest in humid leaves
wishes touch my hand
kisses trapped by molten sand
lit up glass
etched secrets in the withered grass
Source: Poetry Pact volume 1. Eds. Angela Felsted and Richard Merrill. Fairfax, VA: Jazzy Press, 2011.
This soundscape piece takes us to that magical twilight hour of summertime when the night comes alive. Felsted is a friend of mine from a poetry critique group whose work I enjoy very much, not only because she creates such evocative images, but also because of her sense of play. There's a little rhyme, but not too much; there's a little bouncy lilt, just enough. My favorite image of the piece is "star buds nest in humid leaves" and how it juxtaposes the celestial and horticultural to speak of the insect world.
What lines or images strike you?
Like poetry? Enter to win my collection!