If it's poetry that you tend to seek
Then, write words down
That you want to speak
You can write about the birds and the bees
Or write something you've beheld, if you please
But, just remember that the words that you've wrote
Will be looked at by others to note
And for them to try to comprehend
That the notes to them, you want to send
Might be a little far fletched or remote
But, as a poet I think you should know
The meanings of how your words flow
You must also try to realize
That's what seen by others eyes
May be looked at like it's pure- status quo
Categories:
fletched, analogy,
Form: Free verse
Lilac’s Locus
Clouds in contrast,
as night fades...
Hidden in the shadow-dark, underfoot -
astride the windblown crinkle-leaf of
a season ago, a violaceous crocus begins to dream
of the end of the dream-
time
and the skybowl (soon!) of light.
Cut through the indigo,
a black-fletched line;
one single goose.
Now two.
Categories:
fletched, bird, flower, nature,
Form: Free verse
Within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright
shadows twist obsidian trees torment,
the cypress writhe in blood moon’s bright delight.
The hunter hides his nascent lust for might
and so the doe flees by man’s bow unbent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight,
bedevil not the finer soul, repent,
the destined deed, must feed, man’s plight.
With deadly skill, fletched shaft sheers frosty night.
The horned hart does fall in wonderment,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
And torment flows in drops of crimson sight,
distorting right and light with man’s intent.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight
Into the holy water blood rings light
for life is all and death is but dissent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright,
the cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight.
Categories:
fletched, adventure, angst, animals, confusion,
Form: Villanelle