Glade (Day 25 #NaPoWriMo)


The bird flew over patchwork fields
Golden stalks of corn swaying
In the lazy afternoon sun,
Ripples in a sea of green and gold.
On the horizon a dark shadow,
Twilight and Forests edge.

As dark crept out from trunks
Bowed low, beneath the crooked
Boughs that barred the light
And lush green fecund fields,
The bird flew in and left
The days remains behind.

It plunged beneath cool shaded balm
And swam through whispering leaves,
It passed the dragon’s flies that
Skittered in the breeze and flashed
Like arrows in the gloam
Jaws like pincers broke
The beetles floating there,
Ripe juice like berries dripping on
The bough’s they lit in gloam upon.

It breasted waves of leaf and bough
Disturbed by evening breeze
Until reached the bluebell’s glade
Emerald tufts that bore
A weight of fang and fur,
A monstrous mound that
Panted pained by light
And pined for night
Shrouded dark, relief, release
To guide the maw,
And keep the light
And man at bay.

In a cottage near
The Forest’s edge
A young woman
Honed her blade
And on the table
Blood red bright
An Apple shone,
Bright in the flickering
Smoulder of evening

© Greg Richards

Day 25  The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space.

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