Waking to breaking news,
a dirge of heavy words.
No bulletins heard on NPR
to navigate the shade.
No heroic couplets
in the poem-of-the-day.
No gotcha to pierce
those shuttered minds.
I take refuge in the woods
reclaiming this street,
with a lurch of shrubs and stalks
on the verge of summer dresses,
their full spectrum is a quake
for my astigmatic eyes.
There is a peace in the havoc of Matisse,
a celebration around a stump
in a circle of what is
overlooked, the silent armistice
among a controversy of crows,
the song unheard
just beyond our reach,
yet even as we feel the pulse
we're still not fluent in the words.
Thank you for this! A lovely way to start this blustery morning.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I set the scene of this poem in that same mind-set of a dark and stormy inner morning and then tried to find my way out of it. I found delight not only in the images but also using assonance in the lines.
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