Quills

[eclipse]

 

Fingers of light wear the gloves of

an unknown river on new years as 

the ghost of Robert Burns delivers

a recitation, fingers offer different

dialects in sign language. 

 

The river's dreaming God summons 

in shivering lunar silhouette the dead

lovers of Mr Burns, they are give life

by the light's acoustic bones, they 

stagger the moon in their net, an owl

passes and they attach the wings of 

it's future ghost. The moon sheds 

three hundred and sixty five feathers

as it hovers on gloves over water.

 

An old poet drafts verses, a river releases

hands to deliver the newly born on this new

years day as camping eyes wait. Falling

rain is like the echoes of the blades of grass,

clouds the echo of a poets foot-steps from

his night time walks.

 

The feathered moon lands on Robert's hand

and demands his disparate memories, then

commands an ancient sleeping wind to release

the quill from it's pocket, old lovers raise a fire,

the wind floats the quill above the flames, Burns

articulates verse about the preservation of Scotland's

independence. 

 

 

[Tinker]

Hi Barry, This is very cool that you chose Robert Burns who's verse to me is among the most relatable and easy to understand of his time. He wrote about simple things.  He wrote as a Scot, and clearly loved his heritage.   I like this poem very much.

~~Tink

 

[David W. Parsley]

I'm with Tinker.  A nice celebration of the poet with a unique slant.  Very well done!

(No comments on extra words.  ;-)

- Dave