A Robin’s Song

 —My poem in a form borrowed from Archibald MacLeish poem:

ars poetica


A Robin’s song before the rain

As sweet as a summer day


Dear

As a sky blue egg in a green moss nest


Soft as the sound of a wood wind flute

Or a wind chime in a breeze


A Robin’s song is tenderness

A soft caress


A Robin’s song seems to float on air

As night falls


Lasting, calling in the half dark

Tracing through the dappled trees


Lasting, as if a memory of a memory

The longing lingers in the melody


A Robin’s song is infinite joy

As fleeting as a dream


A Robin’s song is sweet

But brief




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dusty rose dreaming

~ inspired by a poem written by my friend, the late painter/poet Chris Nancarrow Dusty rose powdered like city girls she wrote of the wild rose that grows along the gravel road  winding up her windows and following the Esso truck A painter would know the wild rose colour  by heart I suppose to mix in her palette  the rose covered cottage, the pink budding blooming perpetually, reflected  in rose coloured glasses, the same hue as the quince jelly lining the pantry shelf come September, and the prize ribbon  winning raspberry jam too. That colour of morning, soft rose on the horizon Summer shimmering, rosy dawn slowly rising. write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color.
Read more

Tumbling verse - Day 16

 Birds are puddle bathing, Got me laughing. Golden crowned sparrows; Tiny rainy day Pharaohs. Arrived on a spring day. I wonder if they’ll stay. Attracted by my trees, And of course the seeds I sprinkle on the ground When they come around. We didn’t plan for rain But they don’t complain. Splashing exuberantly Out in the driveway.
Read more

Chapter One

 I am leafing through a new novel by Icelandic writer Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir searching for a chapter title to use for my poem. Choose a chapter title from a favourite book   is today’s poetry prompt. I’ve looked through all my favourite books for chapter titles, but they all use numbers. My favourite book is ‘The Tree’ by John Fowles  and Frank Horvat, but it has no chapters, only photographs of trees. This won’t do. It’s the same with every book I pick up. Chapters are numbered. There is no poetry in that. I go back to ‘Miss Iceland’ (my friend Jen sent me on her birthday last November). I thought of you the whole time I was reading this , she wrote. Graceful...this winning tale of friendship and self-fulfillment... is sprawled across the cover banner. I read the book and searched for myself,  and recognized our friendship in its story. The protagonist is a single girl; a writer who lives with a poet in Iceland. And works as a serving girl in a coffee shop. It is 196...
Read more