"I don't want to write a poem today," he hissed as he slithered through the woods. "Today is not a very good day for poetry, though some I know would disagree."
He lifted one foot, then the other, stepped over the log blocking his path and the third step squish right into the swampy mass the fallen tree had hidden, as if by design and deliberation. "Of which a tree has none," he shouted to the raven perched overhead, squawking, onyx eyes staring.
He put his other foot forward, knowing it,too, would squish - and it did - and he waded ankle deep, becoming knee deep, becoming too deep, he realized, too late.
Too deep. No poetry today. Sad onyx eyes look on turn to a smile as his hat comes off and floats the cat's eye button reflecting the sun overhead.
And he sinks. Deeper and deeper until he comes out on the other side of the globe. A raven. With a quill. Who writes his name in the sand with octopus ink. And cries for lost poems and hats and buttons.
"...and the weather today will be mild with cloudy skies and temperatures..." He rolls his body to the right, swinging his left arm as he goes and his palm makes a belly-flop worthy landing on the snooze button. He coughs once. Turns back. And tries to retrieve the interrupted poem.
I have a submissions calendar page. These are culled from P&W, Duotrope, CRWOPPS, emails and friends. Feel free to add the Google calendar in its entirety to your calendar or add specific events.
2 comments:
unnamed poem
by dot
"I don't want to write a poem today,"
he hissed as he slithered through the woods.
"Today is not a very good day for poetry,
though some I know would disagree."
He lifted one foot, then the other,
stepped over the log blocking his path and the third step
squish
right into the swampy mass the fallen tree
had hidden, as if by design and
deliberation.
"Of which a tree has none," he shouted to the raven
perched overhead, squawking, onyx eyes staring.
He put his other foot forward,
knowing it,too, would squish
- and it did -
and he waded ankle deep,
becoming knee deep,
becoming
too deep, he realized, too late.
Too deep.
No poetry today.
Sad onyx eyes look on turn to a smile
as his hat comes off and floats
the cat's eye button reflecting the sun overhead.
And he sinks.
Deeper and deeper until
he comes out on the other side of the globe.
A raven.
With a quill.
Who writes his name in the sand with octopus ink.
And cries for lost poems and hats and buttons.
"...and the weather today will be mild with cloudy skies and temperatures..."
He rolls his body to the right,
swinging his left arm as he goes and his palm
makes a belly-flop worthy landing on the snooze button.
He coughs once. Turns back.
And tries to retrieve the interrupted poem.
Word prompt poem
by Deb
My mind wanders
the overgrown
deeply dark woods
of my crowded
inner terrain
Wading through
this thought
that memory
searching always
for a reasonable truth
While sometimes the
space between me
and me
leaves but a faint
slithering light
So i gaze intent
searching the answers still
seeking a reasonable truth
held suspended within
my internal crystal globe
Post a Comment