Mark Peterson Poet Free verse

Barred Owl

In sleep
I awake dreaming.
Outside, the air is
heavy, still and close,
and he has roused himself
to speak.

A few, plaintive cries;
do kindred roost nearby?
He knows I’m here
because I listen,
yet he discerns in me
no purpose.

Might the woods
not be the same 
without me here?
I am deaf to his
ancestral songs,
and so he keeps his peace.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Andrea Dietrich February 14, 2016 at 7:32 PM I love this . It is the owl I was going to write on until I got the parliament idea. I really like this kind of writing, Mark. Too bad we could not use older poems in her contest. Mark Peterson February 14, 2016 at 8:13 PM Andrea, I hadn't been paying much attention to contests. In fact, I think it is you that pointed me in their direction for the last few I've entered and was lucky to take top place. Thanks for scanning down to find this one and to comment. We love the owls in our back yard.

Robin Davis December 6, 2013 at 10:38 PM Mark What a creative and unique write. You did very well with the descriptive and imaginative verses, allowing the reader to feel they are in this poetic story. Nice job Thanks for the sweet comment on my Halos and Wings poem Mark Peterson December 7, 2013 at 12:55 AM Thanks for stopping by, Robin. Wonderful of you to take notice of so many of my poems. See you again soon.

Ilene Bauer November 5, 2013 at 6:25 AM you've painted such a vivid picture for me in such a poetic way! thank you... Mark Peterson November 6, 2013 at 5:37 PM Thanks, Ilene. It's fun to realize that even mundane things can come alive with poetry. But who would know but for ones like you?

Sandra Adams November 2, 2013 at 8:44 PM we have an owl somewhere in the woods behind our home...I can hear him from inside but when I go out, he quiets down...I enjoyed this poem tonight...nicely crafted :) Mark Peterson November 2, 2013 at 11:39 PM Thanks for looking at my poem and commenting. When owls deign to acknowledge us at all, they just kind of stare right through, fixed on a more distant horizon. Unnerving.

Jon A Cavanaugh November 2, 2013 at 11:44 AM Enjoyed this poem. I think of how the animals hush when they sense a human nearby. I have a poem about owls as well. Mark Peterson November 2, 2013 at 7:59 PM Thanks, Jon. I couldn't find your poem on owls, at least not in the title. Let me know. This owl lives right outside, in trees above the creek that flows through our back yard.

Joseph Matose November 1, 2013 at 2:55 AM Good Day, Mark. You've captured what we may disdain.....owls at night hooting with a rare diction of their ancestors! I visualise a Camper in a deep jungle where jackals and owls inherit tranquillity of the night; tossing on a camp bed, alert to nature calling! Friend, JM. Mark Peterson November 1, 2013 at 10:39 AM Joseph, not a mere reply, but poetry in itself. Why don't you expand on this and post it? Good Friend, Mark