Old Poetry
I found my poetry journal from a few years ago, when I was cleaning my room. I actually like some of it!
**
Little solemn owls
Sitting on branches
Wearing tiny monocles
And ancient bowler hats.
Talking of important things.
Little solemn owls
Winging through the forest
Sticking out their pinky-feathers
As they drink their tea.
Little solemn owls
Stooping on their prey
Tearing into mouse-flesh
With gentlemanly beaks.
**
Painted Eyes Stare
Over your shoulder, whether you move
Right or left.
Trees are green, behind
Ridges of gray, sharp stone
Against a robin's-egg blue sky
Inked so long ago.
Time has no meaning.
Only sometimes do we
Forget to remember Reality
As we used to see it.
Maybe the artist's model
Asked him often,
Grinning slightly, as a fox
Inscrutably charming
Causing the painter to
Insist that he remain still,
"Are you watching closely?"
Now he is gone.
**
Little solemn owls
Sitting on branches
Wearing tiny monocles
And ancient bowler hats.
Talking of important things.
Little solemn owls
Winging through the forest
Sticking out their pinky-feathers
As they drink their tea.
Little solemn owls
Stooping on their prey
Tearing into mouse-flesh
With gentlemanly beaks.
**
Painted Eyes Stare
Over your shoulder, whether you move
Right or left.
Trees are green, behind
Ridges of gray, sharp stone
Against a robin's-egg blue sky
Inked so long ago.
Time has no meaning.
Only sometimes do we
Forget to remember Reality
As we used to see it.
Maybe the artist's model
Asked him often,
Grinning slightly, as a fox
Inscrutably charming
Causing the painter to
Insist that he remain still,
"Are you watching closely?"
Now he is gone.