poetry

In my hand

Sally

The nothing weight of a bird
(the word is zero zilch nil)
In my hand, I thought it dead
But its head moved. Later still

The indigo bunting flew
Brilliant blue away on wing
Wonder, marvel, such splendor
I surrender to this thing

This idea that beauty
(nature’s duty) is oft found
In small overlooked moments
Whose components astound

When examined or seen
Like the green praying mantis
Spindly legs folded in front —
A hunt? Or holy practice

The wooly bear in my palm
A psalm of security
As it curls up –in that pose
Choosing to trust surety

I would get it ‘cross the road.
I sing an ode to efts (or
Are they newts?) turtles, toads
Crossing roads. Yes, I adore

The fact that I can hold them
Avoiding mayhem of cars
Moments of peace in my hand –
So grand – if we but stop, ours

This is a Welsh form: Awdl Gywydd (pronounced “ow-dull gee-youth”)

  • Four lines
  • Seven syllables per line
  • The final syllable of the first and third lines rhyme with the 3rd-5th syllable of the following lines
  • The second and fourth lines rhyme.

It’s my response to the W3 prompt this week. Selma Martin (the poet of the week) challenged us to write a poem of any form on the theme of the beauty and perpetuity of the natural world that surrounds you. I am a nature-rescuer, in my own very small way, helping small cross the road on a daily basis, and very occasionally, like the indigo bunting, being surprised at life where I assumed death.

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Published by Sally

9 thoughts on “In my hand”

  4. Bravo!! I love how you used this form – I was tempted but decided to step outside my comfort zone…. The surprise of life when we doubt is so well described – absolutely gorgeous!!!

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  5. Aww, Sally, gorgeous, you: “I am a nature-rescuer, in my own very small way, helping small cross the road on a daily basis, and very occasionally, like the indigo bunting, being surprised at life where I assumed death.” A nature rescuer. So happy to know this. 

    Around this time I usually reblog  something I see as a public reminder for when the birds start their migration. I’m sure this is not what befell your rescued bird, but many will not be so lucky as they cross over cities with glass high rises that reflect the sky. Birds crash into them. Forgive, got side tracked there. But I thought a nature rescuer like you, for who,  “small overlooked moments

    Whose components astound” would appreciate. 

    Your poem, “In My Hand” most lovely in its form and content; great title. Your work is a holy practice that touches me. Thanks for participating. 

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