The sun split the belly
of a gray-dragon day,
spilling bloody
yellow entrails
over houses and fences,
hanging like
shredded linen in the trees.
I walked on the sidewalk
pressing golden slime
into the treads of my shoes;
birds bobbed for curious worms,
stepping lightly,
on flooded lawns.
Windows worn thin
from staring eyes inside,
washed their sills and jambs
with the blessed plasma
of a slain Winter storm.
(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)
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8 comments:
wow, there is a lot in this! I'm trying to write in the dark while a class watches a dvd about rhythm - I've seen it 33 times now! 3 more to go ----
Thanks Andrew! Assume you survived the last 3...
You're scaring me....
I aims to please!!
Pat, wow, the juxtaposition of entrails with the remnants of a storm creates an interesting feel to the imagery in this poem. I want to be disgusted, but the images turn out so beautiful. It's surprising and enjoyable for that element.
Thanks Christine. Just a different way of looking at a storming going away.
'birds bobbed for curious worms'
was great but i got REALLY excited over 'slain Winter storm' . . . kill that beast.
Eric I can understand why you would!!
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