Posted in poetry

Where Poetry Lives

Where Poetry Lives

 

i think i got it all wrong
poetry does not live
in the moon and the stars

it is the gray dove that
sits on the knobby bare branches
of a choke cherry tree
puffed up
warming itself in the
morning sun

the small squirrel
the one with a slight limp
that stuffs its cheeks
full with seeds the sparrows
have dropped in the
grass under the bird feeder

the hissing sound of the
shiny tea kettle filled with hot
water bubbling and bouncing
on the back burner of a
flat top stove ready to
become my morning tea

 

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Author:

I am a reader, a writer, and a snapper of photos

12 thoughts on “Where Poetry Lives

  1. This is pretty much my own mission statement when it comes to poetry. It’s grounded in everyday reality…I find so much of it there, I feel no need to reach for the ethereal (that’s why I never write about faeries–lol)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh gosh!❤️ I love your poem soo much! “it is the gray dove that sits on the knobby bare branches
    of a choke cherry tree puffed up warming itself in the morning sun.” *swoon*❤️

    Like

  3. You’ve got it just right, Candy! Love it! Especially:
    ‘the hissing sound of the
    shiny tea kettle filled with hot
    water bubbling and bouncing’.
    I’m off to make a cup of tea!

    Like

  4. kaykuala

    the hissing sound of the
    shiny tea kettle filled with hot
    water bubbling and bouncing

    How ordinary sounds in the house can be so poetic to a sensitive poet here! Great word-craft Candy!

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

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