Owl-Sounds.

 

 

Owl-Sounds.

 

On nights like these when coal fires burn,
tainting with soot city's cold air,
I hear the owl from my easy chair
and imagine talons sheathed in thick fur.

Not thru' countryside haunts he screams
but hunts now in crumbling walls
where once stood candelabra-lit halls
full of silk-clad dancers beneath oak beams.

On evenings like this hungry he swoops
eyeing a chance his wings collapse
plucks from old hearths mesmerized rats
as dust again settles in castle's half-rooms.

From neon's lit roadways an owl sounds
doom's omen for all ruined houses.

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

Fay, the images, sounds and texture conveyed in this poem transport the mind someplace cold. We feel those sheathed talons in our own skin with this scene, and the darkness fall over us. I think we might find more meaning than just your owls and houses. A well-crafted poem, Fay.

[Fay Slimm]

Am delighted the poem transported you to the scene my friend - my thanks for your visit and read and review.

[Neville]

One of my favourites Fay.... both the barn owl depicted and these finer than fine words you have most recently posted here.... N

[Fay Slimm]

Great to get your review Nev.......... glad you enjoyed the read about owlies in crumblin' houses.

[Neville]

I did indeed they were a real hoot.....