Friday, September 8, 2017

Peacocks

All that morning, peacocks.
Later that afternoon,
the first yellow leaves, and tea from a tin.
On my bed, peacocks.
On my lawn, the same.
Inside these lines, peacocks. Inside my skin, the hen.

Late in the evening, peacocks.
On towards dawn, 
my book, my dog, and solitude.
Outside,
peacocks.
Inside my skin, the hen.
______

A flash 55 for my BFF Hedgewitch, and for Mr. Kick-Ass himself, Galen.

 
 
 

8 comments:

hedgewitch said...

I absolutely love this, Shay, the way it reflects an iridescent blue mood like a peacock tail-feather, or that striking green--and we stay green, I hope--that they wear around their necks. But my most favorite part is the hen, the quiet one, the non-gaudy and screechless one, who holds all the fertility and promise of the species. Great work with the metaphor here, and the accompanying pic and music made me smile, insuring the start of a kickass weekend. Thank you for playing, and remembering the G-man with me.

Steve King said...

This reveals that sly inner presence that's always listening, watching, and always on the job...

Sherry Marr said...

The hen knows her pleasures - "my book, my dog and solitude". The peacocks can have their fine feathers.

Dani H said...

love this, Shay -- the poem, the image, the song. great 55! Galen would be happy.

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is beautiful, friend.

angieinspired said...

a calm and poised yet very dramatic interpretation of a life. you are brilliant, my feathered friend

Other Mary said...

Indubitably kick-ass.

Rommy said...

There is something kind of spooky about this. The rare birds are everywhere in this poem. You can understand the desire for quieter sights on the hen's part.