#flocks - Hello Poetry

Watching quietly from nearby stump, bushtits, flit, at the edge of the wood, scattering if a leaf moves, like precious feathered fragments of light ~ “one” of many tiny feathered dancers, all look the same, to those who never look, to see beyond a name all skittish of a giant’s human kindnesses, not all that different than a large “one” feeling insignificant and small… hearing a bashful chatter, whispering wonderments, flocked together “one” for all — all for a greater good sadly, the giant “one” at the edge of the wood, is the only lonely heart — even the smallest precious hearts know, all need someone to love and behold; bestowing purpose, as every humble breath unfolds, a need to just be, a need to belong, something to be, more than “one” — —the edge of the wood

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3d ago

May 31, 2026 at 11:48 AM UTC

harlon-rivers

At the edge of the wood

Watching quietly from nearby stump, bushtits, flit, at the edge of the wood, scattering if a leaf moves, like precious feathered fragments of light ~ “one” of many tiny feathered dancers, all look the same, to those who never look, to see beyond a name all skittish of a giant’s human kindnesses, not all that different than a large “one” feeling insignificant and small… hearing a bashful chatter, whispering wonderments, flocked together “one” for all — all for a greater good sadly, the giant “one” at the edge of the wood, is the only lonely heart — even the smallest precious hearts know, all need someone to love and behold; bestowing purpose, as every humble breath unfolds, a need to just be, a need to belong, something to be, more than “one” — —the edge of the wood

37

something told the wild geese it was time to go as the soft breath of winter slowly fades away beneath their wings it whispers "no more snow" the chill of winter days has now gone across mountain tops and fields of gold the song of geese carries a distance tone high up in the clear crystal blue skies velvet clouds gives way to the sunshine in V-shape form North wild geese flies the geese call with the wind it's blown check marking their flocks flight location notifying relatives they're headed home

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Aug 31, 2016

Aug 31, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC

LadyBird

Headed Home

something told the wild geese it was time to go as the soft breath of winter slowly fades away beneath their wings it whispers "no more snow" the chill of winter days has now gone across mountain tops and fields of gold the song of geese carries a distance tone high up in the clear crystal blue skies velvet clouds gives way to the sunshine in V-shape form North wild geese flies the geese call with the wind it's blown check marking their flocks flight location notifying relatives they're headed home

12

as soon as these blue speckled socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still. Just these blue socks are left.

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Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Mew

as soon as these blue speckled socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still. Just these blue socks are left.

7