True Tales of An Acorn
I felt his little wrinkled nose pressing through the snow, just when I thought I was all alone, under this lovely quilt so bright. I’m tougher than I look; I can be broken. Let the cold freeze his selfish schnoz! The psychiatrist did say I have an anger problem, he called me a nut - I told him to leap from this tree and to my amazement he did. His swan dive was amazing, swirling and twirling, but darn, he landed on those lazy leaves.
I prefer to think of myself in poetic words, I am the fruit of the oak. I’m leather-tough and my body’s shaped like a cup. I’m practically perfect.
The bully-birds picked on my brothers and sisters. They came close to me a couple of times, but the kindly wind swept them away, their tail feathers ruffled.
In the Autumn I fell, landed hard - my bum bruised and an impish human threw me into a basket. I was humiliated as I dashed against John Does. He took us up, lined us up like army men - should I salute, I wondered.
His mother called him in; the wind came with a cold shoulder this time, brushed me off. Then this bitter storm of white flakes frightened me. I fought the shiver - over time I became warm under confectionary powder.
My future grim - I see now I shan’t become a tree. I reside inside another living thing - adieu adieu. I close my eyes as I am chewed. I leave this note beside my cocoon. Remember me, mon amie as you look up.
4/29/2020
The Last Acorn Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2020
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