That little girl toe-tip swinging on a school bench holds her shirt front like a steering wheel to drive drive drive mouth working into a moon-wide yawn perhaps she’d come with me touring among the clouds like red scarves who dare purple bluffs to gallop in noses bitten straight as woodchips at home two eggs refuse to hatch mother hen, busy beak and irate fluff attacking all and you have to wonder is it instinct or grief? but here and now I am driving alone head-on through the sieve, the mottled glow of that ballistic yawning moon ************************************************************************************************************** Hi to my regular readers. The next few weeks look pretty daunting for personal reasons. Not sure I'll be posting much but I hope you'll be here when I come back. I so enjoy exchanging poems and comments with you. May the moon be kind to you. Cheers, Jo
Moon
Published
Out of the Cave 
love ‘the clouds like red scarves’; the hen image hits hard and that question; even the ‘ballistic’ moon’ is disturbing’
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks John. I am so glad it spoke to you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
wish you well for the next few weeks, Jo 🙂 keep well
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, John.. you too!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree with John. That is such a fantastic line. And I love how it continues into, “who dare purple bluffs to gallop”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Bob!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is absolutely gorgeous. Every image is captivating, as is your transitional flow. I have recently watched parakeets hatch (and not) their first clutch. One baby survived. The process, including death, is fascinating.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you Shawna!
LikeLike
This is so beautiful, particularly your hen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you ❤
LikeLike
Oh, your little henny!
Take care of yourself, Worms.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
The ‘red scarves’ are just wrapping themselves up in the sky. Take care, worms.
LikeLiked by 1 person