Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Goldfinches gad about
in the blossoming crowns of the oaks,
brassy as advertising.
The clouds draw in.
Wood thrushes begin
their evening songs at noon.
Long feathers of rain
on the breeze—a plumage
the exact color of the world.
This ends the series. Thanks for reading.
Dave Bonta (bio) often suffers from imposter syndrome, but not in a bad way — more like some kind of flower-breathing dragon, pot-bellied and igneous. Be that as it may, all of his writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
Thanks for posting! It’s been a good read. Very good.
Thanks. I had a blast writing it! Now to go back and edit…
Good last line.
Glad you liked that. I was worried it might seem a little over-wrought.
Anything with a wood thush is fine by me. My best one started singing again this last week, the first brood must have fledged. It got very overcast today, and the thrush was indeed singing at noon. Of course he was singing at noon yesterday too, with severe clear skies. Hormones will out.