Counting Explosions

 

Outside, slates of light like Frisbees tilt,

Reflect, strike tree trunks, and fall into puddles.

Their flights go smothered, steaming, in those

Water putties, blotched and smeared, their

Glossy sharp edges cracked and jagged.   

 

Inside, broken window, those glints rolling

Like coins on the carpet, slowly toppling over.

All their flights are safely landed -- they, celebrating;

Shoot dust up like confetti, watching it float soft like

Stray feathers  

Author's Note

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Sounds like paradise for an explosions addict, I like the sense of safety, the fonfidence with which you write and the rich, compunding imagery which you have created, very well done

[Dayran]

I came across a story about how mushrooms around a tree stump create an explanation for the tree's demise and attempt to raise the tree again from the memory of the past as experienced by the seed. They create curious images on themselves of their attempts and it tells quite a story.

But the story leaves gaps and they never quite get the tree to grow again. However one wonders at the tremendous determination in life to know itself and the reverence it has for life. Your poem reminds me of this and your own special concerns for life's many aspects. Nice write.

[Coyote Poetry]

Amazing use of language. I like the artwork and places you took me with your poem. Thank you for your excellent poetry.
Coyote

[.]

Beautiful imagery and figurative language, Cole.

"All their flights are safely landed -- they, celebrating;
Shoot dust up like confetti, watching it float soft like
Stray feathers "

Great job!