Lifting the garden latch,
we set out on our walk.
The dogs pull on their leads.
We walk among
grey gnarled trunks
with dusty green leaves.
Dust billows beneath our feet.
A staccato
pop pop popping punctuates
the quiet afternoon stillness.
Metallic crimson flashes
between the branches.
He darts from oak to oak
and we try to follow
with our eyes.
But he is too fast.
Holes scar the trunks;
marking his
rebellious path.
This poem was written using two prompts. The first was Joseph Harker's Reverie #4 .
This gave me the form -- a different way of building a poem.
The second prompt was from Wordle #42.
1 comment:
Despite reading that this was a wordle as well as reverie #4, I completely forgot the wordle part as I read, and had to go back and look for the words.
I like the greyness you establish before having the red flash through. And, I am still having to look for the wordle words...
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