Old Mother Wichita wets with twilight.
Blackjacks bruise purple but for the green
lichen half-rubbed away hip-high
to an old bison's itch.
A rich robe of Indian Blanket sways and drapes
the hill to hollow hovered
by a red-tailed hawk circling
in the blue becoming gold becoming thick
with cicadas, fireflies,
and mockingbird song.
Summer light dies slow,
lingers lazy and long.
Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon.
For Midweek Motif~Nature: Her Words at Poets United
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
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About Me
- Maude Lynn
- Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. ---Flannery O'Connor
17 comments:
You pile image upon image and my imagination goes wild with longing to be there, even in the bison's itch. A wonder-filled poem!
Oh, my goodness, this builds into a bewitchable draught of magical elixir, that i drank down with wonder. Spectacular!
"summer light sighs herself into a star"...what lovely imagery. I enjoyed your poem immensely!
This is simply a delight to read Mama Jen! I love the line, "Summer light dies slow, lingers lazy and long."
"Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon."
Stunning Love it. Icam away in peace from your poem Very serene
...and she wishes: May this be forever. Beautiful
Love the images especially the last one,,,
What a beautiful poem especially the last verse.
OMG..so full of delight!
Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon.
Nature has learned to right itself in the face of disasters and destructions perpetrated by man!
Hank
Ah - the last two lines of your poem are truly stellar! (Smiles.)
'Summer light dies slow, lingers lazy and long. Then she sighs herself into a star for night to wish upon'... I am literally swooning right now!💘
Images whirling to a stellar ending. Love this!
I loved the detail and the sweep of this. Exquisite.
"in the blue becoming gold becoming thick . . ."
Yes, insects, but also the air of twilight! Your poem sent me on a search for "Mother Wichita," LOL, and I found a murderer and Barach Obama's anthropologist mother! But it's the description of the ascent into star that I admire.
Mama Zen--This is so lush. It reminded me of the song "Indian Sunset" by Elton John... a tune that never was played on radio, but one of my favorites.
If this were a poet's final poem, I'd think she could go easy into death knowing "this was the one."
Are you in awe of yourself for having written this? You should be.
The second line and the third stanza could give birth to thrones.
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