Flight of the Falcon
Derelict sky: a single bird flies.
The winged-scavenger glides,
encircles the center of my area.
Nothing else exists, just this:
deserted grayish-dimension
nothing on the wires, nor ground
no sound, just a bird . . . a man
A mist falls on his outstretched wings
on every feather spread on his mighty back
and as the rain thickened, he repelled it
shed it, like a broken-minded man sheds tears
Motionless flight suddenly shifts
The bird’s glassy, black vision
channels down
upon these emerald
shimmers, and a vacuum culls
his eye to mine, calls my substance to the sky
His panorama becomes my own
yet I still stand in this gray, cool drizzle
to watch him fly away, alone, forgotten
in search of the crystalline . . . azure . . . that left him behind
© James Eric Watkins
~~~~
This an old one.
It's also a part of one of my poetry
manuscriptsthat that I've never sent
anywhere. Regardless, it's one of my
favorites of mine. As I hope you too will enjoy.
The winged-scavenger glides,
encircles the center of my area.
Nothing else exists, just this:
deserted grayish-dimension
nothing on the wires, nor ground
no sound, just a bird . . . a man
A mist falls on his outstretched wings
on every feather spread on his mighty back
and as the rain thickened, he repelled it
shed it, like a broken-minded man sheds tears
Motionless flight suddenly shifts
The bird’s glassy, black vision
channels down
upon these emerald
shimmers, and a vacuum culls
his eye to mine, calls my substance to the sky
His panorama becomes my own
yet I still stand in this gray, cool drizzle
to watch him fly away, alone, forgotten
in search of the crystalline . . . azure . . . that left him behind
© James Eric Watkins
~~~~
This an old one.
It's also a part of one of my poetry
manuscriptsthat that I've never sent
anywhere. Regardless, it's one of my
favorites of mine. As I hope you too will enjoy.
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 12:51 AM
3 Comments:
The words you choose always paint such a beautiful picture in my mind. I'm diggin' it.
BTW. Still bored, but doing much better. Thanks.
Becky
A beautiful poem. Two of my favorite words: crystalline and azure.
I often wonder what to do with my poems. Putting them on a blog gives them some air time and inspires others. In fact I am due to post one soon.
I wonder what the bird was thinking?
“Look there on yonder ground, a feast.”
Eye contact.
“Oh hell it’s still breathing.”
“Later un dead dude.”
(Sorry I’m really weird today, and this piece is marvelous, and I am a dork, but you know that.)
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