Thursday, April 4, 2013

Antediluvian - 4/30

Hey, all. How's your writing going? How's your reading going? Hopefully your days entail plenty of each.

Today's poem had no prompt. Just a look-out-your-window-and-write kind of day. A fresh rainy Spring day like this? This is exactly why every NaPoWriMo I turn out at least one completely useless nature poem. But maybe it won't be useless to you. Maybe you'll enjoy it.

Antediluvian

As Spring preens itself with chlorophyll,
tends new plumage with inhalations
known only to Pelizzari and Pipin,
life crawls from tombic burrows
thirsting for the heavens.

The oak tree's seven-pointed stars,
veined in grey and liquescent xylem,
drink deep the sky's outpouring, while
soil instinctively churns itself into
something for cave-scrawled narration.

Amphibian diaphony bubbles invisibly,
and creatures more bristle than bone
frolic and paint new lines on creation
with watercolor-tails that know nothing
but thankfulness for this drip,

this blessed wetness, this restrained deluge
whose rainbow-forbade potential
still brings shivers to the giants
old enough to know
its chill.

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