- Status
Hazy..............wonderful songs!!!
I hazz been busy editing my book (actually going well) but here's a poem. I wrote this about a hunting area I used to hike in that was super spooky, and I was attempting to capture it's spooky nature with a bit of imagination added to it, though if you saw this place... not that much imagination. It was a fun place to hike while pondering the nature of mortality which is what I did. Also wanted some onomatopoeia to happen in this poem.
Ask for Lazarus
The motionless air sits quiet on
the hollow ground.
Saturdays, the hunters
arrive, to listen for their chosen
deer; hoping to mark
the silk-red hides with iron pellets,
wishing to drag the heavy bodies home
over the inclined paths.
No noise here; when walking past
the safety zone, be sure to wear bright amber
lest the branches under human feet
be mistaken as footsteps
marked for slaughter.
The still pools, the chill waters
enshroud the bodies of missing
children. In spring, the slender fingers
of twigs brush the surface
and ask these shadows to rise again
and play. Sometimes, at night the children
will answer. Calling for their mothers,
begging the trees to lift them back out
but forever; the limbs too fragile—
they drown again, the water unbroken.
The slow-moving spring
puddles from one lake to the
next, dragging the glutted bodies
of bottom-hugging fish, that wait
to rise for flies.
The white birches in the forest all died
last winter. They hang thin skeletons
over the narrow trails and wait
to drop. Not even a creak of warning.
The absent creatures speak
in the silence. Murmuring
of their weary, wandering days
of walking through the woods
and searching to bring home
their missing fathers, mothers,
daughters, brothers, sisters, sons.
Anna
Ask for Lazarus
The motionless air sits quiet on
the hollow ground.
Saturdays, the hunters
arrive, to listen for their chosen
deer; hoping to mark
the silk-red hides with iron pellets,
wishing to drag the heavy bodies home
over the inclined paths.
No noise here; when walking past
the safety zone, be sure to wear bright amber
lest the branches under human feet
be mistaken as footsteps
marked for slaughter.
The still pools, the chill waters
enshroud the bodies of missing
children. In spring, the slender fingers
of twigs brush the surface
and ask these shadows to rise again
and play. Sometimes, at night the children
will answer. Calling for their mothers,
begging the trees to lift them back out
but forever; the limbs too fragile—
they drown again, the water unbroken.
The slow-moving spring
puddles from one lake to the
next, dragging the glutted bodies
of bottom-hugging fish, that wait
to rise for flies.
The white birches in the forest all died
last winter. They hang thin skeletons
over the narrow trails and wait
to drop. Not even a creak of warning.
The absent creatures speak
in the silence. Murmuring
of their weary, wandering days
of walking through the woods
and searching to bring home
their missing fathers, mothers,
daughters, brothers, sisters, sons.
Anna
Hi 2WW, SD here, nice meeting you! 
Oh & Stols too! I haven't really met you either but seen you around, HELLO!
Oh & Stols too! I haven't really met you either but seen you around, HELLO!
glad to see you back! well 2WW it is then!! and hey i bite on occasion too lmao!!!
Hi, Reddhott. Good job on the white wolves
afternoon my wonderful friends! ty all for the great tunes and poems and howdies and well just being you!!!!! hugs to u all and have i told ya all lately>>>where would i be without u all????
- Status
Similar threads
- Locked
- Locked
- Locked
