Boy hiking out of bounds slips into acidic hot pool at Yellowstone
dies.
Huge flock of snow geese land in an old, acidic open pit mine
well over ten thousand birds
die.
She lands into a relationship, ripe with promise, is tripped
by his acidic wit, and a bit of her
dies.
One never knows when the innocuous will turn
perilous.
.
.
.
http://gizmodo.com/thousands-of-snow-geese-die-after-landing-on-toxic-mini-1789760515
http://time.com/4574226/man-dissolved-yellowstone-park/
Outside
crunching air announces autumn’s
departure.
Inside
your frosty glare says
winter has arrived.
In the early morning
the view is clear;
we can see for miles.
As day emerges,
clouds obscure our vision,
our perspective decreases.
Clarity before obscurity.
Peace before busyness.
One to hold the other at bay.
Creeping along, devouring everything in sight,
unsatisfied,
wrapped up in strings of your own making
wound up in yourself
chrysalis
waiting for wings.
Patience is a virtue.
You break free, stretch,
the new you quivers with discovery.
You fly, fill life with sweetness,
bring joy to those who watch you
waltz with the wind
until
you fall life-less.
The core of you crumbles,
but the breeze captures the wings left behind
and carries them,
curling and flipping
to the sky.
Head
hits
brick
wall.
Head
hits
brick
wall.
Head
hits
brick
wall.
Head
hits
brick
wall.
Brick
wall
impacts
head.
I am a Velveteen Rabbit
watching from the edges
loved tightly,
letting go,
becoming real.
Every day
release some of the pressure,
let the steam of words blow
rising like mist
falling droplets of thought
caught.
You can make room for new
opportunities
ideas
possibilities
to pen
if you drain your brain
daily.
.
.
Lots of poetic devices in action here, as well as good advice. Thanks syl for the image!
Your anxiety
ripples the air
pushes and pulls me,
threatens my calm.
I’d breathe you my peace
but you inhale all I have
then you rustle and quiver,
vibrating me
into your distress.
The airlines say,
put on your own oxygen mask first.
I need my air.
I.
On the side of the highway
an outstretched wing
unfurled black
feathers twitch in the breeze
that no longer lift it.
.
II.
On the side of the highway
unfurled curls of black
tires lie.
In the wind of passing traffic,
unwound wires twitch.
I blink.
What
exactly
did I see?
The yard is speckled
with black spots
as if a coal train tipped on a fast corner
and sprayed lumps.
Twenty or thirty have spread out and bob
in search of hidden meals
or trouble
as is the nature of crows.
They’re strangely silent this morning,
like blurry eyed truckers
who’ve driven all night
and just want some breakfast
before the day begins.
Shawn L. Bird 