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Heavenly Horse Shoes
by A. Paige White He builds himself a voice
And gives it a toss.
Lassoing a cloud
With his sonar lariat.
Equal parts sound and water molecules
Floating mysteriously against the blue
Scattering vowel and consonant
Breezing and puffing across the continent
Looking up from broken grief
Riding recent misery
It looks to be a feathered laurel,
Each leaf gently sculpted
In the circular wreath,
A laurel fit for a champion,
For a God.
Crowning a cloud
shaped like nuclear combustion.
It hangs there in a steady position.
Paige Skeen 6/20/6
06/20/2006
Author's Note: Must be the humidity. Or maybe I'm hormonal. *_*
Posted on 06/28/2006
Copyright © 2024 A. Paige White
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/24/06 at 11:15 AM I think I would like to sprinkle these words into my bowl of milk, for then my humble bowl of milk would be deserving of the title, Breakfast Of Champions. |
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