about an owl
about an owl
my body aches, I’m sore,
my knees are chafing raw
trousers hang heavy
from last night’s storm
I’m far from home
on a quaggy pathway
and it’s sunrise
I prop my punctured bike
against a hedge,
my elbows on
a five-bar gate
wondering,
at the majestic patchwork
of fields of furrows
stretching to a distant
Stone Age barrow
and beyond
from nowhere
an apparition –
fulgent in half-light
attracts the eye
a silver weft
of stately owl
overflying
the heavy loam
a gunshot
a ‘lifetime’ later
(it seemed to me)
the owl returns
flying but struggling
I guess she’s dying,
I shake my head,
take up my bike and walk.
© coolhermit 2023
Views: 441
What else could you do?
… and tell us about it of course. Nice one, Rick.
Allen
psst – between you and I – it is a parable really- the owl is my first lover (she collected owl figurines) who carved through life beautifully serenely. I was a wreck when I was with her (I have put this in some of me pomes) we lost contact – for a lifetime – we re-connected online – the gunshot represents her stage 4 cancer (she sadly died) and what else is there for one to do? (rhetorical) but to follow the injunction attributed to Jesus – take up my bed (bike) and carry on. Don’t tell anyone though –… Read more »
My lips are sealed. Promise.
Oh no! surely there aren’t people who shoot owls!I suppose there ae. Love your poem though.