High winds stir the trees like surf, a dead branch crashes every few minutes, but the small birds still forage, twittering in the birches.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
High winds stir the trees like surf...
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Dave, I found another one… Frankly, I could do this all day long intead of the work that’s lying on my desk!
Thanks again. I will visit your Morning Porch more often.
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High winds stir the trees like surf.
The racket they make is counterpoint
to the quiet I want to make in my heart.
There, a dead branch crashes
every few minutes. But yes—
even there, birds forage: their small
hungers, twittering like blue
flames in the birches.
Luisa A. Igloria
11.30.2010
Nice work! I probably wouldn’t have thought of “blue flames” on my own — I’m too literal-minded most of the time — but it’s the image that makes the poem.
Should we leave these untitled?
[...] High winds stir the trees like surf. The racket they make is counterpoint to the quiet I want to make in my heart. There, a dead branch crashes every few minutes. But yes— even there, birds forage: their small hungers, twittering like blue flames in the birches. [...]