draft
strangest thing
The strangest thing is not the platypus
with its furred body and laying eggs
nor is it starfish having
a brain in each arm.
It is that I still love you
without reason.
Ariel
optimistic
the sky is gray
and outside January cold
yet it is the start of April
daffodils braved the artic weather
will the tulips also show their faces
will the primroses open
the sun approaches closer and closer
parts those deary curtains to the side
(who hung them anyways)
reaches down and caresses the fruit trees
spring is coming, is coming I say
brush aside the dried leaves still there
let the stalks grow tall.
Ariel
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Red Fern
A boy loves his dogs
more than pennies he collects
in an old mason jar
and dogs love their boy,
more than the scent of coons
or the joy of the chase
the boy feeds them table scraps
from his own plate
has them sleep on his bed
rather than the cold shed
the dogs love their boy
with a passion only wild things love
the boy loves his dogs
with a passion only young boys have
the dogs wiggle with joy at his call
lead him into the untamed woods
find prey for him, coon skins
and lay their lives down for him
where the red fern grows.
Ariel
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I am doing National Poetry Writing Month and April Poem-A-Day challenges again this year. I’m going to catch up here over the next few days. I’m behind because my ‘puter got a virus and I have had to rebuild it. I think it is all good, now.
Keep in mind that all poems posted in my blog tend to be drafts, especially during a month like April or November.
Let’s start with “cage”.
a cage
this heaving
this skin and bones
trapped as if
a tornado in my gut
gelatinous organs
an ocean,
churning in a storm
tossing me and burying me
a freezing grave
poisonous salt water
burning through my lungs
a time
of nonexistence
wishing death
stripped
of all I am, trapped
a second stretched to week
too weak
my head, my limbs
this virus
a cedar
chopped down
drying out
sap too thick to flow
bark lets go of trunk
and falls
to pests and pestilence
to be eaten
consumed by microbes
a window
to death
a curser
a bird after hitting the pane
falling, my wings akimbo
broken bones shiver
but hold their frame
a sword
with a weak spot
keep me sheathed
use me and i will shatter
so I wait
in this cage
of skin and bone
organs gelatinous
until a call
a flute
to rise again
and I am reborn
on the shore
able to fly.
Ariel
nwpoetariel
Ariel, Pacific NW poet 