Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Black outline joining blue to white
like stitches tossed skyward
by persnickety thermals.
Teeters, then rocks, rising
the only sound a whisper
of air across sable primaries
carving poetic invisible paths
all the while seeking out
the reek of death
in valley, meadow,
roadside ditch.



At 8:57 PM, Anonymous Edit2 said...

Touché,BT3. Evocative . . .

At 9:44 AM, Blogger possumlady said...

"seeking out
the reek of death
in valley, meadow,
roadside ditch."

According to Julie's account of groceries left in the car, you forgot to mention "garage"! ;-)

At 12:24 PM, Blogger BT3 said...

Dear Possumlady:

You are correct. "The Vultures Knew!"

At 1:06 PM, Blogger Julie Zickefoose said...

It's good to have a totem bird who will also clean up after you.

I like this pome, B.

At 6:09 PM, Blogger flywithwings said...

I love your poem and turkey vulture!

At 6:10 PM, Blogger flywithwings said...

I very much enjoyed your turkey vulture and poem!


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