In Which My Arms Begin to Dance
The day was warm
and I was asleep,
beneath the shadows
of a wailing tree.
The wind blew in
the calming hymn
of birds who tear
through the air.
But hidden beneath
was strange little hiss
that kept creeping nearer.
Annoyed I looked up with glare
Jumping up and pounding the air
Only to meet the stingers of bees
in which my arms began to dance.
The End
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Author guidance for This poem
Current ScoreGnashville: 120 points (for writing "Help! I'm Being Eaten By a Rodeo Gal In A Dervish")
How challenging. Write a poem with the title decided by the author of the post before. It's quite absurd.
*I encourage you to leave a COMMENT for the poet before you (or on any poem you like). This is an exercise in both poetry and in community! Please help us build on each other.
Have fun! Try to read others' work! Be fair, play nice, be appropriate (I don't want to mark this mature). You're big kids; you know what 'appropriate' means.
Thanks, Eryl
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My Life According to that Pen Over There. This chapter
was posted on Aug 30, 2010 by
Fujiwara.Akira.
This is a collaborative poem.
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