Hope, the slick owl sat solitary on an electric post
down a squirrelly alley — brooding, shivering & bruised.
A momentary shiver ran down the wire from its claws dripping blood.
The blood dripped and dropped on the cobbled alley — an echo
as some haunting refrain floating in a valley – piqued its interest.
It rolled its flexi head, setting its blasé onlookers —
a few sparrows and seven babblers — in fright, aflutter.
The song ran breathless through its marrow; and the day’s blinding light
obfuscating its sight, revealed a nubilous form of the creature of song.
The owl longed — for the day to fade, for the bleak lit in silver,
for the blur to morph into shape, for the shape to smelt,
for the moon to pour the nectar or drop a sliver on its runcible spoon.
- C. Oulens
#PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer
Prompt: Hope as survival instinct. about a creature clawing its way out of the muck, chasing a sound. Device: internal rhyme and at least one moment of repetition.
@brokenspinearts.bsky.social
@alanparry83.bsky.social
#blueskypoets #BlueskyPoetry #poems
#poetrycommunity