(Inspired by Steve Still Standing‘s  “An Exercise in Poetic Styles”)
Even the river bleeds –
fiery frigid essence –
earth’s watery voice.
***
It is the river
that calls, waters flowing
through my veins
and I am the banks
steadfast in my holding
the razor sharp edges
like liquid steel
eroding my earthen
postures, challenging
the hardened places.
To stroll amongst giants –
straight-backed arrows
whose green bows aim skyward –
a directional pull so uplifting
that earthly matters diminish –
this is contentment.
A shrill note
pierces night’s curtain –
an insistent, pestering alarm
Is it loneliness
that motivates the caller –
the need for a warm body
to calm her feathered fears
or a throaty hum to lull her?
Or is this an infant cry,
a hunger for nourishment
anxious in separation
waiting for mother’s
regurgitated assurances,
father’s watchful stance.
An onerous honk
breaks through
the high-pitched peep
and then, as
warmth wanes
a softer, sweeter
melody presents
followed by
a laughing trill
avian pleasure
prefacing night’s slumber.
Suggestion of blue
framed by barren, hopeful branches
underscored by coniferous tops
fronted by yellow-green optimism
and a floor of brilliant new growth
as filtered through metallic screen
and black-framed windowsill
focus interpreted by progressive
lenses of the one confined inside
perspective horizontal.
Spring willow
aspiring to yellow
wispy curtains
graceful queen
my heart bows
to your majesty.
One Woman's Quest 