Tuesday, April 24, 2012

will-o'-the-wisp


He sat in the rain
on a many-ringed stump.
I watched as he wrote his name.
His finger pen dripped
with ink from his brow,
making valleys
cross, dotting, rays.
“Call me this,” he asked.
Then I saw what he wrote.
His name, in the rain, was the same.


He was sitting on a park bench,
reading a newspaper found
in the trash where he looked
for the gold broken men cast away.
His finger pen circled
a pale yellow shine
and he smiled
warm, slight, brushed aglow.
“Listen here,” he said.
So I gave him my ear.
His eyes, as he read, closed instead.


He flies for a time
in and out of my sight,
whether dreamwalking days
or at night.
His finger pen traces
a secret locked tight
and he whispers
gold, inked, words
“Don’t forget,” he winked.
And I knew he would stay
on the stump, in my eyes, at sunrise.
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This was written for the Studio 30+ prompt "He was sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper."
It is also my first time linking up with dVerse Poet's Pub on Open Link Night.  I'm super excited to have found a "poets only" linky thingy!  Now.  Go ahead.  Tear me to shreds.  I can take it. 
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4 comments:

  1. wow...really nicely done...the mysterious man is intriguing and you built him well in your verse...his name the same in the rain...circling a pale yellow shine...nice

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  2. Welcome to the Pub! Your poem is delightful, creating a whimsical mood. So glad you shared and hope to see more of you, goddess!

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  3. An intriguing story with it's little clues leaving so much for us to contemplate. Skillfully written. Welcome to dVerse.

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  4. I love when a poem is like an image I need to roll my eyes over again and again. This piece had that effect on me.

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