Thursday, April 07, 2011

Bone Emptiness

Hail decapitates
the daffodils. The sidewalks
haven't been dry in months.
A week into April
the air from my lungs still plumes
like steam from a kettle.

Slow exhaustion
sucks at each hollow bone
leaving clean emptiness.
The bones of birds
are full of air-spaces linked
to their lungs.

I am becoming a bird
instead of a steam engine.
I am becoming a windmill.
I am a bone flute.
I am air,
I am empty of air.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

amazing flow..

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...


Welcome join us,

Thanks for the time, a free verse is accepted,

Your poetry rocks. Hope to see you in


vivinfrance said...

Your first stanza made me sad for you - we are enjoying a glorious spring here, but the rest made me gasp in admiration at where the idea took you.

Stan Ski said...

I tremember winters and longing for cold spring to turn to summer...

patteran said...

Graphic and bleak. Soon to be superceded, I hope!

soulsmusic said...

Really like the juxtaposition of the heaviness of winter, contrasting with the weightlessness of flight, of air.


Jingle said...


Mama Zen said...

That first line is just stunning!

DJ Vorreyer said...

Plumes like steam from a kettle
is a lovely line. Nice piece!

Agnija said...

And like a bird you flit from theme to theme. Lovely!

Tumblewords: said...

Oh, yes!

namingconstellations said...

Moves from violent beauty into a series of exquisite transformations... love it.

Deb said...

Of course it is true. All of it. (Funny, I wrote about birds hollow bones, too, earlier in the month.)

Beautifully done.

Cathy said...

simple excellent, I too is still waiting for spring to really open in my area.