Poised Wood
He’s on a feral goose hunt;
Trying to plant decoys in fields of corn;
Coyotes watch from the hedge row’s brush;
Smokescreens are the umbrage his apparition burns…
But the sparrows call into the dividing echo;
While he places wooden ducks to sit in the lake’s center.
They have been painted like beautiful mallards sheen;
Blowing their drilled tube flutes, they call for mates flock…
Floating boats are covered by limbs pernicious blind;
Decorating burnished branches of earthen obscurity.
Bister leaves are tightly strapped of autumnal dryness;
Stolen from living trees looking to rest for winter…
Cinnamon coffee stirs her cream with tender fingers;
Contemplating his smoke rings in the dark morn…
He inaccurately dresses himself in careworn anticipations;
Wearing his fuscous oaky camouflage of a woman…
The sparrows sing warning to the observant crows:
“We can see his little stick prodding;
He has ores painted pine green…”
…and the crows flock together watching;
Admiring his decoys made of poised wood;
All the while knowing…as they preen their feathers;
A hunter’s secrecy is denied in vain…
Imposter…
(Written: December 9th, 2009 8:42 a/m)
In Joy, In Peace, In Grace, In Harmony of Love
Embraced ~ Embrassé
poétesse d'amour ~ poétesse romantique
Copyright© 2009 Poetess Victoria L. McColley
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Like at a high school reunion, believe only half of what you hear. This is inventive, and it's the perfect metaphor for those who seek to hide the truth. Hugs,
Sheila
fee
Eloquent satire, and deserved; your complex, subtle approach lays no blame but lets the reader decide. I like!
John
You have weaved a most wonderful story with a twist packed in a poem!
Georg
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Love,
Sage
thanks for sharing
Love & peace be with you
William
Love and Blessings,
Christine