Saturday, August 2, 2014

Sundial

Walking from my mailbox back to my door,
I could be plodding an elephant path.
I could be wading through wild, white water.
I am a sundial striding.

There's cottonwood fluff beneath my feet;
bee sting and birdsong behind my ear.
My six o'clock hands are sieves for the sand
spilled from my hourglass eyes.

55 words for Shay at Real Toads

21 comments:

Fireblossom said...

I had to read those last two lines over again, just because they sound so cool. *reads them a third time*

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is really, really lovely. Each line is a gem.

thecourseofourseasons.com said...

The feeling of the season moving fast towards fall - Love the line I am a sundial striding K

Sylvia K said...

Wonderfully beautiful as always, MZ, no one writes it better! Thank you!

Björn Rudberg said...

A sundial striding.. Yes that's an image to walk in.. Love that cottonwood image..

Björn Rudberg said...

A sundial striding.. Yes that's an image to walk in.. Love that cottonwood image..

hedgewitch said...

We mark the hours in ways we seldom realize...and I wonder who uses us to tell time? I liked this one very much.

jo-hanna said...

To be sung with a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no

Magaly Guerrero said...

I want to see this painted... and listen to you read the words as I look at the visuals.

What a treasure.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Glorious! the elephant path, the wild white water and, especially "I am a sundial striding."

Hannah said...

I LOVE this, MZ!! All of it!

Helena Philomena Liebekraft said...

There is a certain time of evening when it seems that one could slip between worlds. I do believe you have captured it here!

http://encyclopedianetherworld.blogspot.com/2014/08/k-is-for-kids.html

Arushi Ahuja said...

picturesque!! beautifully painted with words!!

grapeling said...

wow ~

artichoke sharpie said...

This did something to me, physically. I deeply felt every word. What more can one ask of poetry?

artichoke sharpie said...

In case it isn't obvious, every line conveys how heavy she feels, how beaten down and just-close-enough to death to taste it but not close-enough to attain it. These words describe a mother of young children, to me! But the poem aptly describes any person having experienced painful, difficult circumstances.

Marian said...

this is very, very fine, MZ.

Lolamouse said...

What awesomely cool images! Love this!

manicddaily said...

There is a narrative directness even with the metaphors that works so well. Thanks, MZ. k.

Margaret said...

Could be, could be…. what's holding her back is the question - and time is not waiting for her. Quite mysterious.

The Bizza said...

"My six o'clock hands are sieves for the sand
spilled from my hourglass eyes."

Visually vivid poem with a strong ending. Love it.