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.
Tag: nature
Creative ignorance
I finally had a chance to type up the poem I recorded on my phone last month while driving home from work.Â đŸ™‚
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
to notice.
Sky scrawl
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
azure.
A sticky mess
Prompt: Write a poem about an empty room or a lie.
Another mouldy string
in your intricate web
of lies gives way,
the remainder straining
to bear your weight and
the sticky mess unlikely
to cushion your fall from grace.
As the days grow short
As the days grow short, the colours turn bold,
deciduous trees discard green for gold,
russet and amber, an autumn array.
Seasonal palette of hues on display,
a feast for artistic eyes to behold.
The clear skies of day have been placed on hold,
evening’s glamour begins to unfold,
a last hurrah as the sun slips away,
as the days grow short.
The temperature plummets, the air grows cold,
but nature still paints, she is uncontrolled.
Repetition might seem a bit cliche,
but we see her glory day after day.
And beauty like this can never grow old,
as the days grow short.
Fire in the skies of Mordor
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.
Don’t take it out on me
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
unsuspecting passersby.
