deepundergroundpoetry.com
Plains
CYCLE I: EARTH
From highest lands to Mother’s lap, the Way
Is found, Her flats in wheat straw tendrils spread,
Which slightest breath in subtle wave-forms play,
From muddied banks to canyon towers’ edge.
And with Her Springs and storms Her floods may come,
Still time’s progress brings verdant life arise.
In pounding of their weight, the stampede's drum,
They split the rows like Nature's force realized.
In air here scented sweet, filled hot they run,
It’s in this lush, where mighty tracks are found,
And here where mighty hunts in battles won,
When cunning hunters bend to holy ground.
With harvest passed when all their hungers sate,
Recline with Winter’s night for hard Spring’s wait.
April 7 - NaPoWriMo 2017
From highest lands to Mother’s lap, the Way
Is found, Her flats in wheat straw tendrils spread,
Which slightest breath in subtle wave-forms play,
From muddied banks to canyon towers’ edge.
And with Her Springs and storms Her floods may come,
Still time’s progress brings verdant life arise.
In pounding of their weight, the stampede's drum,
They split the rows like Nature's force realized.
In air here scented sweet, filled hot they run,
It’s in this lush, where mighty tracks are found,
And here where mighty hunts in battles won,
When cunning hunters bend to holy ground.
With harvest passed when all their hungers sate,
Recline with Winter’s night for hard Spring’s wait.
April 7 - NaPoWriMo 2017
Published 7th Apr 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 1
comments 2
reads 666
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
7th Apr 2017 3:37pm
Wonderful tale of Winter hibernation, Hepcat. The supplication to the holy ground of Mother Earth is so palpably visual. Great job on the series!
8th Apr 2017 1:28am
