The Tale Weaver
My #27 for National Poetry Month
sometimes i spot her,
birds, clustered in feed's hot pursuit,
peck abandoned seed near tired feet
they know
her taste for sour mash
licked on the sly
from old bottles left behind
at the night door,
her need for a smoke.
nicotine fingers stroke
feathers she has collected
over years.
she weaves them into nests, chanting
to her birds in the old tongue.
she is the keeper of their beginnings
and the scribe of their endings.
her fingers move unconsciously.
© 2017 Audrey Howitt
Comments
A wonderful tale, nicely done.
Hi Audrey - you are an extraordinary wordsmith
Beautiful Tale weaver, and with so few lines you created a thoughtful poem.
lovely poem, Audrey
Short but full of meaning
I could hear, feel, see your graphic descriptions. Very enoyable.
Another vivid and exquisite piece. A Beauty!
Interesting poem with great imagery.
Cool image of a cigarette smoker bird feeder.
I can almost see her doing this. She finds pleasure in such simple things.
The imagery you project is vivid.
This tale has more than one layer. Very interesting!
I love the imagery in this poem, Audrey. Beautiful work.
Your imagery is captivating. I love this poem!
- Author
Thank you Kristen!
Great poem Audrey. Very artistic and visual with so little words. Well done and lovely photo.
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