There is something about owls on the edge of the village, that they want you to know which is that they raise the tips of their ears brown tufts, spiky ends of feather-hair when they do not want to be seen. And sometimes they lower them and get mad when the basket-carrying apple harvesters walk past without offering them a slice. And sometimes they are not brown owls at all, but a deep indigo, and this usually when the world is swimming in midnight purple, they gather in a parliamentary circle, silvery moon-strands on the edges of their puffed chest feathers, looking down on the pale lights of the cottages, the huts, copper eyes shining and they say, hoo.
Suspended in forever-long whale expanses, looking down all we saw was a deep, deep blue.
Ocean sky, we fell through the wavy cloud tendrils like fish through seaweed, yellow-tinted, green-touched, the edges of white formed circles as we drifted ever downwards.
We saw the tiger first as an orange smudge then as a spectre, floating against our current, and it was coming, generous paws bounding – it phased through us, bringing the colour of rice fields, of childhood trails, a shiver through our skins.
We looked over our shoulder and saw it meet the blue whale that had been slowly emerging from an altocumulus clustering.
The glowing outline of snout against snout and everything, everything was clear.
Grey clay path, how it drifts in the outermost curve of a spiral. That mousedeer did not find it too tiresome, bounding along to find the circle of a circle. Her red fur against the tufts of yellow grass.
Narrow clay path, still wet, still malleable, and how many little indents her hooves made as she walked the same route repeatedly – and soon the path was more step than stone, and no other creature could have left that ridged and intricate pattern but her.
Hi Lim, just some various comments on these last ones
I love how stone paths had the form of the poem almost arranged as little stepping stones a person was following and then at the water part a little cascading water stream.
Something that's standing out in all of these is certainly the color descriptions - quite a few poems name specific colors with their visuals, and that to me draws attention to the colorfulness and vibrancy of the images.
I really enjoyed your take on the wall-prompt one! And that first line especially just set up the opportunity for a neat whimsical reflection. The gathering into a "parliamentary circle" in particular was a fun description in that.
"Ocean Sky" is one of my favorites - especially with some of the phrases/descriptions like "forever-long whale expanses" and "slowly emerging from an altocumulus clustering" the poem as a whole feels like this very slow measured realization of the sheer magnitude of the sky - it reminds me of a scene in "Eragon" when they realize that what they're looking at isn't the sky anymore but are actually mountains and they can almost not perceive the enormity of it. It's very neat to try to put words to something unexplainable - but there's definitely a sense of "awe" in that poem especially.
Oh my goodness I remember seeing a little video of a mousedeer and they sound / look absolutely adorable. Your depiction of the mousedeer was both cute and determined, it was fun to be reminded that those exist!
And by the looks of it you're still on track for Poem A Day and are even a little ahead! Really nice poems so far, looking forward to reading some more!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
I'm particularly glad you enjoyed the Ocean Sky one - that's one of my favourites, too. Whales in the sky I think are a common motif in fantasy illustrations and I think it's because of, like you said, the sense of enormity and grandeur of the sky. I also like it because of the 'aha-experience' feeling looking at the sky can sometimes give.
And yes mousedeers are lovely! They appear often in folk tales in my country, though the poem I wrote was based more on my memories of seeing a mousedeer at a petting zoo my parents brought me to as a child.
There were no boats on the water. There were only small ripples as pink first-born flowers dropped from cherry blossom trees, their languid hanging branches, finger-tips breaking the surface.
The setting was the town’s old canal drenched in rich night blackness, pin-tip stars speckling, and smudged reflections suggesting gabled brown roofs.
Brown buildings, brown trunks, bark new and old lit by the dark orange glow of crackling torchlight.
There was no report of a bud that blossomed that kissed the air and floated between cobblestone walls, drifting onward, guided by starlight, by firelight.
Dead leaves and new leaves mingled on the sand meniscus as it crept up the glass walls leaving a hollow centre where loose grains would roll back down.
Breathing and rustling, forest wind captured from somewhere tumbled around the small hollow carrying the reds and yellows, the small succulent greens.
And in the pit there was the impression of a rake swirling the sand in a circle, the memory of an old man with a steady hand.
Ice-blue crystalline surfaces would mist up when the cave breathed, or silvery plumes hissed out through cracks in the ground. Firm edges. Hard walls.
But things would drop, sometimes, the shard that broke off and fell, growing into glowing dust. Small lights that inhabited the grey water folds, encrusting the edges, the walls.
On a green-curtained path, aquamarine and pastel marbles half-excavated from black loamy soil. At the corner of the road, a large brown leaf caught between interlocking branches.
Someone sprayed mist into this memory. How father and daughter wandered -- this remains.
Moon in a glass, a bright white blob left of the underpass entrance, half-buried in white gravel.
Winking light coruscates in its tininess.
Once an ant crawled in through a hole in the lid and was swallowed by the fantasy.
It became a glowing mote floating in anti-gravity.
A memory of walking home from school, looking over the side of the bridge to see that bright thing blink where long indigo shapes would whisper unafraid.
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