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
Great poem Audrey. Very artistic and visual with so little words. Well done and lovely photo.
- Author
Thank you Kristen!
Your imagery is captivating. I love this poem!
I love the imagery in this poem, Audrey. Beautiful work.
This tale has more than one layer. Very interesting!
The imagery you project is vivid.
I can almost see her doing this. She finds pleasure in such simple things.
Cool image of a cigarette smoker bird feeder.
Interesting poem with great imagery.
Another vivid and exquisite piece. A Beauty!
I could hear, feel, see your graphic descriptions. Very enoyable.
lovely poem, Audrey
Short but full of meaning
Beautiful Tale weaver, and with so few lines you created a thoughtful poem.
Hi Audrey - you are an extraordinary wordsmith
A wonderful tale, nicely done.
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