Death
Morning glories shrivel, crushed under an August sun,
beaten to a fetal curl by the anger of afternoon thunder -
battered wives demur in submission to the pain of their days
for there's no shelter in the sunflower's thin-arm shadow.
The preying jaws of the beetle offer no sanctuary -
but lightning shines in the smooth skin of wet things,
and in the ebony shimmer of damselfly wings.
Poetry
Enjoyas muchas, E. My only nit (not even as big as a nit, really, more of a mite - lol) is that it is one looooong sentance. I wouldn't have even picked up on that before someone picked up on it in one of mine. Who knew you Moonies are making me not only a better writer, but a better reader!
ReplyDeletelol it works like that - we call it brainwashing.
ReplyDeleteHow's that?
ooh, that's better...
ReplyDeleteI rather blew by it before for some unexplained reason. I do like it now. Thanks E2 for seeing what I couldn't.
Works much better for me. Now the only thing I get snagged on is the last two lines rhyming, but I think that's just me being silly.
ReplyDeleteMe too Erin - but for now, "oh well."
ReplyDeleteI hear ya, E. I don't have much oomf at present either.
ReplyDeletebut your little picture looks so happy and energetic!
ReplyDeleteI keep coming back to that rhyme thing (once someone else pointed it out...lol), I'm dry.
ReplyDelete