For the Skagit Valley Writers’ League meeting last week, we were given the following words to write into a poem. We had to choose at least seven of them. It was a fun exercise and what follows is my poem. No name has emerged yet. Can you suggest one?
Sky fable pixilated
Muddy giddy gruff
Swan ripping nincompoop
Sunset morgue hooligans
As evening came the glowing gold of sunset washed across the fields
I strove towards home and crossing, as it were, a stream, I drank
The pure and bubbly waters and allayed my thirst. Light-headed with relief
I raised my eyes to wonders now awakening in that holy space.
The poppies bowed and danced, blood red in the iridescent light.
The song of life they sang was filled with sorrow at the arrogance of men
Who fight and kill and somehow believe in fables of dominance and power
The wisdom of the poppies as they yielded to the wind now shouted to the sky
And one solitary, pure white swan held aloft by that same wind
Answered with a swoosh of wing beats, ripping silence into shreds
And I was giddy with relief that no longer does the morgue of death hold fast
The lives of those who err in foolishness and pride
It yields, instead to life now soaring, dancing, rising above the muddy fields
Of our illusions.