Up on the ridge
spring sweeps low across the grassy hills like
green fire
and a warmer wind moves swiftly over their
curves
the liquid song of two bright
meadowlarks
burbles from the brush like a stream of
water
under the cloud-studded sky a
redtail hawk
hangs motionless watching
me
green fire
and a warmer wind moves swiftly over their
curves
the liquid song of two bright
meadowlarks
burbles from the brush like a stream of
water
under the cloud-studded sky a
redtail hawk
hangs motionless watching
me
posted by MB at 9:16 AM
14 Comments:
I really like how the potentially threatening image of the hawk watching the narrator (alone: "me") complicates the poem. Spring is here; look out.
I admire your discipline in this exercise, regularly posting a draft of a poem. It takes courage.
"spring sweeps low across the grassy hills like
green fire" ... you never cease to astound me with your powerful imagery. and the evocativeness of so few words and so many colors: green, yelllow, white, red... wow! beautiful! thank you!
Yes, Amy, the poem begins and ends with a kind of tension.
Snowsparkle... now, see? YOU brought the yellow with you. It wasn't stated. I like that in you.
i have to say that i enjoy reading your poetry as much as having tea with a fascinating friend. it is stimulating and artistic and sooooo satisfying. :)
"green fire"...what a dynamic image - brings so much movement to the canvas.
I love the sense of wide space in this... and movement that halts with the hawk.
It's impossible not to enter into your images, mb!!
I am ardently wishing a publisher would pick these up and put them in a beautiful book that I can carry around with me and read whenever I need inspiration, a breath of beauty, to be reminded of the heights to which the beautiful among us can reach.
I think you've gone past metaphor with your green fire into something more like metafive...
Love those hawks playing on thermals.
Wonderfully done, mb. Earth, water, fire, air. All there. When the hawk watches, it is a moment to be savored.
mb... for some reason, i associate meadowlarks with yellow. i know their song by heart from the fields where i grew up, so if their plummage isn't yellow, then to me their song seems to be. :)
They are yellow, snowsparkle, they ARE! But not everybody would know that, that's all I meant. :-)
The second and third stanzas are so good. And I like the way that the watcher becomes the watched at the end ...
I feel the stillness of the moment, a few seconds lasting like a painting
Mary, thank you. Nature is much like that — the watcher and the watched.
Sue, thank you for that thought. It's much the way I experienced the moment.
smzang, welcome! Thanks for pointing out the alliteration — I wasn't even conscious of it, but there it is! I'm pleased you enjoyed the poem.
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