The lost sunrise, rare coin, I now lament.
So too, its flaming slide at end of day.
I can’t escape my farm girl’s sentience.
Unleash me over those fields of fresh mown
hay,
Not here, where brick and steel climb up
the sky,
Where wren and hawk have flown a quick
retreat.
Gray smoke and stacks alike tarnish
surprise,
Over a city that rumbles beneath my feet,
That busy beast that swallows every sound.
With clotted breath to water’s edge I’m
drawn
Where stars appear from out the black surround.
Like fields of wheat, waves undulate in
song.
And then there’s you with power to part the
night.
You turn the linens down and dim the
lights.
I'm pounding the pentameter for d'Verse, the poet's pub, a top destination for poets worldwide to meet and share their work.
The challenge here from Ingrid is to write a poem in the heartbeat of iambic pentameter. da-dum, da, dum, da-dum,da-dum.
And then order a drink!