Monday, February 10, 2014

February 10, 2014 We Write Poems #6 One Day in the Future

We Wordle #6
FEBRUARY 10, 2014
by Misky

Prompt:  frost, escape, day, skin, fire, feeling, dye, years, spark, wing, joy, voice, limped, edge,  rises, sweet, spikes, slept, wind, throw, spell, spirit, fall, number, pebble, word,  fall, crunch, little, word, green, oceans, nature, line, nose

One Day in the Future
One day in the future
Perhaps many 
Years from now 
     ...or not so many
Broken wing
On the edge
No escape

On this indigo day
Pebble thrown
Spell cast
Spirit of
Having slept for years
Awake with joy
Pulled shawls 
Around their shoulders
Frost on the ground
Moccasins crunch
On dry river beds 
Winds blow dust
Where great green oceans
Once ruled

They raised their voices
And beseeched
Where is the world
We remembered
Where is Eden

In this new world
Nature has been 
Treated cruelly
Her dry skin
Longs for moisture
She no longer
Supports the life
We knew
They had no words
To tell this story
Tears rolled
Down their cheeks


Anonymous said...

I envy that rich environment in which you live and from which you draw inspiration. Have often wondered what our anscestors must think of our doings in light of their genuine love of the land itself. Beautiful writing, Annell,


Robyn Greenhouse said...

great use of the words! Ancestors would probably wonder what we have done with Eden. Of course they'd find a world attached to electronics and would have to send out a tweet to get a response to their question!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh Annell, how beautiful a write this is - and sad. I love the crunch of the ancestors' moccasins, am saddened by the lack of moisture, and the tears on their cheeks. Beautifully done.

Anonymous said...

This is wonderfully written, and a joy for my imagination.

Raven's Wing Poetry said...

This poem does three things to me: 1) remember my childhood in the Southwest and how much I want to go back; 2) open a window into the sorrow these women feel for our damaged, broken world, and 3) remind me of one of the reasons why I write poetry in the first place -- to tell stories, call attention to injustice, and try to help us remember that we are not here to consume and be brain dead. This is some beatiful work, Annell. Sorry it took me so long to get to read this.