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
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Bone Emptiness
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14 comments:
amazing flow..
Greetings,
Welcome join us,
Thanks for the time, a free verse is accepted,
Your poetry rocks. Hope to see you in
xx
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.
I tremember winters and longing for cold spring to turn to summer...
Graphic and bleak. Soon to be superceded, I hope!
Really like the juxtaposition of the heaviness of winter, contrasting with the weightlessness of flight, of air.
Elizabeth
beautiful.
That first line is just stunning!
Plumes like steam from a kettle
is a lovely line. Nice piece!
And like a bird you flit from theme to theme. Lovely!
Oh, yes!
Moves from violent beauty into a series of exquisite transformations... love it.
Of course it is true. All of it. (Funny, I wrote about birds hollow bones, too, earlier in the month.)
Beautifully done.
simple excellent, I too is still waiting for spring to really open in my area.
www.thequietone.net
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