In the Shade, Tea in Hand
Poetry is an... (Photo credit: liber(the poet);)
Our daily writing prompt from Poetic Asides reads “Write a shady poem—Open interpretation” or words to that effect. You can see some of the possibilities here, can’t you?
No time to waste today on exposition. Let’s get to the poetry! Enjoy yourselves!
Expectations
She came in from the green field,
Ready but not willing to yield
To his warmed hands that awaited,
Nor would she stand, breath abated.
Instead, she called a long wavering note,
Seeming to cast her sole possible vote,
Concerning continual molesters of his ilk,
Saying “No!” to his stripping of her milk.
No anger answered her call, only sweet talk
To reassure her of his rightness, “No need to balk.”
She listened to his whispers, guided to her stall.
Once there she relaxed, finally willing to give all.
Shy, elusive, scuttling from leaf to leaf,
She listens, wary, knowing missteps cost
More than her own life, her children’s.
Twig snap!
Freeze; eyeballs only, scan for foes.
Birdsong allows for exhale amid
Thundering heartbeats; too long,
Gone too long, but close, very close.
Another length of ground gained,
Fast beneath the canopy, taking
Advantage of each dark haven
That hides the path home.
One tree between her and sanctuary,
She gathers strength and speeds toward
Those she nurtures within the hollow
Of her heart and beneath the pawpaw.
Safe, all safe!
Little ones gather round, nudging, seeking.
Onto the floor she spits out seeds, gathered
with care for this second feeding of the day.
She’ll endure fear and fatigue to mother them all.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
Related articles
Leave a Reply
Claudette J. Young
Liebster Blog Award
Share This
Readers On Claudsy
| Homepage on Wednesday Interview: Mikki… | |
| The MNINB Annotated… on Wednesday’s Interview wi… | |
 | Donna on Whether Looney or Not |
Claudsy's Blog 
like that statement about poetry and poets, but it means that poetry cannot be learnt and people cannot choose to become poets. http://madrilicious.com
I’m sorry, madrilicious, I’m lost here. I didn’t make any statement about poetry not being a learned skill or expression in this post, or in any other. At least, I don’t think so. Clue me in, please. Am I missing something here?
Oh sorry I meant the picture! It was only a thought of me. I refer to the sentence about Poets being born as Poets and they are able to listen to the poetry they have inside of them.
Ah, but if we’re all born as poets, that means we all are able to listen to the poetry inside themselves. The smallest child responds to verse. The elderly sit, listening to portry with their hearts