"raptors" poems - Hello Poetry

He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?

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Aug 29, 2014

Aug 29, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC

james-jarrett

Owls with furniture

He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?