11/17/2010

3

High winds stir the trees like surf, a dead branch crashes every few minutes, but the small birds still forage, twittering in the birches.

3 Comments


  1. 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.

    – – –

    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


    1. 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?


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