the feral moonlight
lightly touches the cat
but what of the aging feral woman
holding tightly-grasped flowers
drinking from glass branches
in late november
withered voiceless flowers
pulled loose from stones
fragmented shadows, lingering
the forecast, snow
one day her heart stops
that’s what happens
the thud
partially dispersed by echoes
transparent deep freeze
breaking news
loss, stillness
flashing lights
blankets too late
atrocity
oh, hour
by mary ann blinkhorn
mypenandme 
clearly you know well the phonic values and effect of quiet words and their volume in reflection
Thank you. 🙂
The loss, the stillness, both deeply felt, poet.
e
Thank you, Eric. The news that an elderly man was found dead early this morning in a parking lot just a few blocks away from me got me thinking about many things.
triste
There is much sadness in the world, but there’s much happiness, as well. I tend to gravitate toward both when I write. Thanks very much for reading and commenting.
You’re so welcome.
I mask a lot of my sadness behind humor.
This is very high quality!
What a lovely compliment. Thank you. 🙂
Favorite line is “drinking from glass branches”.
Thank you, William. 🙂
Mine too!
Wonderful. I felt the thud.
Thanks for the compliment, Richard. Hope you’re enjoying your day. 🙂
You’re welcome. Thanks – now much improved by alcohol. 🙂
Ha!
This poem somehow reminds me of fall… when the leaves fall… it is very interesting and touched me.
Thanks. 🙂
very well done
Thanks.
Nice poem, Mary Ann, but will you explain to me the meaning of the last line–“oh hour”? Somehow I don’t get it. Thanks.
I’m referring to our hour of death…sometimes it’s not what we would hope for ourselves or for others.
Oh, I see. Thanks. I’m literal-minded and couldn’t quite figure out that line. Good poem.
Thanks, Freeda.
You’re welcome.