a prodigious shout to shake
the humdrum from pedestrian clouds,
but they’ve been stilled by brown
water. It soothes and it slaps, small
falls striking an inattentive stream.
The insect smog where they meet
buzzes in anticipation of antic
aerobatics. One fussy fish
might just follow along; it’s swept up
instead by the gentle flutter of leaves
a breeze puffs off sheer slopes.
It’s a freedom that lends them
omnipotent airs. This lack
of agitation should be apparent
to everyone. Not the harried stones
who've relinquished closely harbored
preconceptions. There is no necessary
conclusion to a docile journey
downstream where a supercilious
tortoise scoffs at such received wisdom.
Far away cold puddles are mired
in a fallow field. They imagine
the tickle of a flow with sunlit speckles.
6 comments:
The ending is super. I love the idea of puddles waiting to be tickled. The line about harried stones made me laugh...don't know why, but it still does. Love this piece. Thanks Francis, I'm glad you rose to the wordle!
It's been a long time, Francis, I love the imagery you created here.
Pamela
Some really nice writing Francis.
Francis, it's a while since I've seen you around. I'm so glad I looked in. Your poem makes sense of a senseless form (the wordle). I'd cried off wordles, but there have been so many good poems to this prompt that I may have to try again.
i love the last few lines. such longing.
@Brenda I'll gladly take whatever laughs the words provoke ;). Wordles have always been my favorite prompts. Thanks for inviting me.
@Pamela I've been trying to write without prompts for a while... self-prompting through my environs.
@Gerry Molte grazie!
@Viv I've always been partial to Wordles, but I think we each have our strengths and I try to play to mine :). I hope you do give it another go.
@Chris I've always shared in the longings of puddles :).
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