walking with a little poetic licence

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Octopus
 
Prodding, poking, hoping, searching for
some reaction from the object
of a hell bent path.

Twisting ropes of meaning from innocent tongues,
entangling prey
in worn out netting.

Contorted images come alive to unwary passers by,
as crippled fingers point at
distorted reflections.
 
Like octopi blinded by blackened waters,
carrying inky currents, born
of outgrown defences. 
 
Grasping for light, as darting fish flash - flying free,
silver hearts ever gliding, laughing, riding
 the currents beyond it's reach.  
 


3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I love your work.
I still think of the butterfly poem .
Did u know the Ancient Greek for butterfly is the same as for soul or mind.

3:27 PM  
Blogger Kerry said...

I didn't know that, o. But thank you for the comment and I've learned something new too :) xx

3:14 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Your welcome - a had a butterfly back through my window today. She stayed a while then went. I thought of you

1:30 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home