Fretting whales of sod
dressed in sheets
of honey,
sly in green
with white flags,
trembling to be seen.
Atop those swollen bites
I spy tiny boats
nodding on the eden
sea’s swooning –
streamers skirting the ring.
Tracing its crown,
I find freedom
snaking out
from beneath
the city’s seed
soiled harlot-hems.
Turned, I am then
rinsed beyond
the borders,
bound for the hush
of the outland
orders.
Wonderful to see you back, Sommer, and with these flashes of ocean.
I think that it takes intense concentration to write in a short form; the pithiness is usually filed out of a longer saying of it. Sometimes I try to do it, often I just go with the longer, lazier saying.
Fretting whales of sod
dressed in sheets
of honey,
sly in green
with white flags,
trembling to be seen.
Wonderful, Sommer.
Thanks for your comment, Dean! It’s good to be back.
No, it very much ends with the whim to escape because I couldn’t actually realise my dream of absconding the city on the afternoon I wrote this – it’s more an observation of the urban filth from a highpoint, and a dream to escape than an epic. I prefer to write short-form poems, myself anyway. Vignettes of contemplation – like a quick scene from a dream than a complete odyssey.
Although I don’t drink these days I can still write like a drunken ramble of which less than half is worth saying! pithy is good. But anyway welcome back it’s been awhile
I like very much the play of sounds. There is something about the rhyme of orders that makes it feel like the poem must continue