Skitcher skitcher skitch.
Katydids in darkness
climb the leaves.
Singing. Singing.
Their dry branch words.
Amelia listens
when she weaves by the candle
smoothing folds of years awakened
and shadows of lives
she wished she knew.
Branches over branches
stare down orange overhead.
Stars peeking through spaces
watch her hands
and wonder if he will ever come.
12 comments:
There is a rhythym in the first stanza that is like a song or rap.
This is great:
smoothing folds of years awakened
and shadows of lives
she wished she knew.
And of course, the picture is wonderful and on fire.
Wow, awesome imagery, Jason.
"Stars peeking through spaces
watch her hands
and wonder if he will ever come."
I love this line. More poetry please.
"Singing their dry branch words."
Perfectly chosen phrase. Wonderful.
Simply beautiful.
What is that light on the bottom of the picture? Nice.
Flood, thanks! This picture was taken one night up in the mountains. The poem was the moment the image evoked for me.
Melissa, much appreciated. :)
Writing Blind, I haven't done much pure poetry lately. Thanks for the encouragement!
Normiekins, I'm not sure about breathtaking, but thanks! I know I should get back to composing a formal poem here and there.
Fran, I actually had a katydid hanging out on my shirt that night. We were buddies.
Jaye, thank you! I love messing around with nighttime photography.
Dana, it's one of those outdoor tiki torches, but without the bamboo holder. It's sitting on a table. I kept the actual flame just out of the frame to create that softer, halo effect.
Love the mystery here. What inspired you?
Smooch,
The Tart
; )
BTW, thx for the note you left over at my place. Nice to know where you are coming from. ; )
Nice Jason. You really have an affinity for nature in your writing. I like reading it because I don't have to actually go outside and experience it.
There seems to be a yearning for someone she lost, or someone she never had.
So much is hidden behind the darkness, behind these words, inside the katydids' song, and inside her heart.
I wonder if the meager candle light is a remnant of lost love, or a spark for future possibilities.
beautiful all the way around.
The Tart, I'll be doing a post in a bit that deals with the kinds feelings a poem like this may spring from.
Rene, that's a high compliment, but I still encourage you to experience it for yourself. :) My words don't do it justice.
Mermaid, such beautiful words. You capture the essense of the moment perfectly.
Anne, :)
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