A bad winter
the worst since the last one.
The camp had lost its children and horses
now the owl sees her last step.
Separated, not expelled in disgrace,
but her tribe disenthralled,
deprived of care
by deaths unremitting cull.
She, the last to stumble away
from the brow-beaten village
knowing there were no more paths
for her in this bleak land.
Only the moon was not cruel,
its wane glow
lit her up like its own shadow
in the yowling dark.
Now only the owl does not hunt her.
She knows that if she ever saw herself,
so weary and close to the bone,
she would think of herself as prey,
She would let fly one last arrow
for a piercing end, and
let the owl see what it may.
Categories:
disenthralled, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Thrashed her life in that vicious fuscous night
Tattered her body in that mucky verdant site
Shattered her dreams in that bloody wicked plight
Four feigned civilized animals, enjoyed their bite.
They waited their turn to deracinate her
With ears and heart kept fastened for her prayer
With ineffable agony nature tried to cover
Her natural body with leafy little shower.
When tired they spared her for a midget time
And wrapped in a blanket to set a meacock crime
Wetted in fuel they fired the chad as a scheme
And disenthralled the soul of the decubitus dame.
Now tell me the judgement of these cruel critters
Hang or guillotine their ugly little heads
Lynching or castration, anything you can propose
Sharpen your quills and the judgement of the case.
Honorable Mention in STRAND SPECIAL 12 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
Categories:
disenthralled, anger, death, emotions, heartbroken,
Form: Rhyme
'Neath the Willows, now cloaked in brume,
as streams the night time deepening.
Enshrouding all in shadows womb,
I espy true loves awakening.
Evetide slumber did find a youth,
within the mead, where I do dwell.
Wont was I, to bespell, forsooth,
tis truly, one thing I do well.
Mazed, stands young swain, aside his bay,
embracing nymph, of flaxen hair.
Bedewed, were eyes, by impish fay,
for it be a swine, he holds there.
Of deep laughter, I do partake.
As disenthralled, young swain awakes.
For: Shakespearian or English Sonnet contest
Host: John Freeman
Placement: 7th
Categories:
disenthralled, animals, fantasy, love
Form: Sonnet