This is a "soft" poem caught between winter and spring. All thoughts and suggestions will be appreciated. Maybe the poem should start with Old Tom??? We are on the road so our response to your poems may be delayed until early next week. Dewell
MODERN HIROGLYPHICS
Sun eases down the mountains
Over the hills and canyons to the
Belly of the valley.
A coverlet of white silence holds
Everything in subdued surprise.
Late winter, early spring
Flush juncos and finches
To breakfast beneath my pink
Dogwood tree.
Spent blossoms spiral down-ward,
Carpet fresh flakes like bubbles
Of vin rose'.
Tiny footprints mark each hop,
Strut and flutter like ancient
Cave art.
Old Tom inches along the top rail,
Stubby tail flicking powder from
Ivy leaves.
Crouched, poised, he lunges at the birds
In a flurry of feathers and frozen flakes;
A cold miss.
Tom rolls and wallows in frustration;
Erases modern history.
Dewell H. Byrd
MODERN HIROGLYPHICS
Sun eases down the mountains
Over the hills and canyons to the
Belly of the valley.
A coverlet of white silence holds
Everything in subdued surprise.
Late winter, early spring
Flush juncos and finches
To breakfast beneath my pink
Dogwood tree.
Spent blossoms spiral down-ward,
Carpet fresh flakes like bubbles
Of vin rose'.
Tiny footprints mark each hop,
Strut and flutter like ancient
Cave art.
Old Tom inches along the top rail,
Stubby tail flicking powder from
Ivy leaves.
Crouched, poised, he lunges at the birds
In a flurry of feathers and frozen flakes;
A cold miss.
Tom rolls and wallows in frustration;
Erases modern history.
Dewell H. Byrd