Photo by Brett Trafford
____________________
it wouldn't work out, not at all
for you are a monet painting
and i'm a scratch on the wall.
the oaks stand tall
casting shadows over bushes, small.
as a raindrop i tap dance on umbrellas,
lightly, like astaire,
but what am i to you, a snowflake,
pirouetting through the air.
words i dart like stones at mirrors,
coarsing through verse like fevers.
but you are a pen, and i am a page,
virgin soil for you to stain.
i once was an elegant meadowlark,
my chorus was heard throughout the park.
but you were a hunter, and you clipped my wings,
i had once dreamed i could be many things.
thorny vines, bitterest root,
i am bound hand and foot.
Tin Kettle Inn
One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.
4 comments:
it wouldn't work out, not at all
for you are a monet painting
and i'm a scratch on the wall.
the oaks stand tall
casting shadows over bushes, small.
as a raindrop i tap dance on umbrellas,
lightly, like astaire,
but what am i to you, a snowflake,
pirouetting through the air.
words i dart like stones at mirrors,
coarsing through verse like fevers.
but you are a pen, and i am a page,
virgin soil for you to stain.
i once was an elegant meadowlark,
my chorus was heard throughout the park.
but you were a hunter, and you clipped my wings,
i had once dreamed i could be many things.
thorny vines, bitterest root,
i am bound hand and foot.
Wow, Tin Kettle Inn, that was great:-)
Our hearts sank as we heard another "bang!". We knew what it would be, but not the species until we found it.
Our large,detached house, set in a huge garden in a field, had windows facing in all directions. Sometimes a bird would fly into one of them, and the "bang!" would always inform us.
On this occasion we were initally confused, as both a starling (dead) and a sparrowhawk (stunned) lay on the drive outside the study window.
We donned gloves and lifted the sparrowhawk into a cardboard box, which we laid in the shade until he had recovered.
The starling lay in a tiny pool of blood. We assumed that the sparrowhawk had been so intent on his prey that he hadn't noticed the house. The starling had crashed into the window, immediately followed by the sparrowhawk.
Within a quarter of an hour, the sparrowhawk's eyes were focussed and blinking again. We took him to the top end of the garden nearest the field, lifted the lid of the box, and watched him take off, free to fly once more.
I heard scuffling at the windows inside the barn. I went over to see what it was. Two young swallows, flapping hard against the glass. I took the first one in my hands and carried it to the barn door, opened my hands and watched it soar into the sky. Then the second. Exactly the same. The two young birds flew round together. Someone told me they would have found their own way out and probably they would but it was wonderful to hold them like that and help them to their freedom...
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