Before a sleepy, disheveled sun even thinks about poking her nose over the horizon, the first calls go out. A cheery wake up song to start a day of industrious productivity. As the sky lightens, first to a dull charcoal, then slowly, persistently, to a stunning, vivid blue, the chorus of melody grows stronger and louder. Sweethearts are courted with flirtatious serenades, and materials are meticulously gathered for the construction of homes in anticipation of future families.
I finally had a chance to type up the poem I recorded on my phone last month while driving home from work. 🙂
If you squinted hard enough,
and used the generosity of spirit
required for the earnest appraisal
of a child’s fingerpainting,
the clouds painted feathery angel wings
across the sky.
I was too busy focussing
weary eyes on endless streams
of sparsely decorated tarseal
Like a rough pencil sketch,
a dragon’s head
materialised from the clouds,
the edges blurred in
shades of lead and cream
against a background that
may have been called
cerulean, but was probably
Fire in the skies of Mordor @nick_crarer
The cool, dim morning strikes a
contrast with the sear and sizzle
of dragon’s fire as darkened hills
are highlighted by the flames of
gold and tangerine that lick the
underside of the heavy swathe
of dark smoke that stretches as
far as mere mortals can see.
She opened her mouth to sing
but nothing happened,
the notes curdled in a stew of
self loathing that she longed
to projectile vomit over
A view of complete tranquility,
of lazy boats adrift on blue,
of islands slumbering, fast asleep,
as if there’s nothing else to do.
She lurks in the shadows,
petals of burnt raspberry.
Prima donnas in pearls
and stolen limelight.
Her time will come.