Tender I move with bare feet,
always bare, across stones
sharp as tiny broken shells,
on a dusty worn pine floor,
on boulders, perfectly placed,
begotten as snow flakes,
as blue whales and quaking aspen.
They bleed freely, these feet.
These feet, they cry and laugh,
fall joyfully calloused,
fly demigod-like, no, god-like.
They speak an invitation,
a lullaby, an invocation.
They speak to you
like an umbrella in the rain,
a shawl around your shoulders,
to a seamstress a present of felt.
Welcome to Four Lines! I have a goal I would like to write at least four lines of poetry or a haiku every day for the rest of my life. I'm excited about this challenge! Also, along with my daily poem, I will be reading at least four lines of another author's poetry. I'll try to include that here also. So I'm thinking - how difficult can it be to read and then write one poem a day? We will see! - Claudia
All poems on this blog, unless noted, are written by Claudia Callaghan.
© 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 Claudia Callaghan
Used only with permission. Please feel free to join Four Lines and request permission.