Gulls Haunt Their Own Cries Poem by elysabeth faslund
Gulls Haunt Their Own Cries
Waves cradle the November ice that
Charms wrens into brides.
Winds rattle knitted twigs.
A broken shell...
Foamed jaws, weaving desperation
Into teeth, drag twilight from the
Shore,
As a chilled, gaunt crab stalks the
Tide's ribs.
Gulls haunt their own cries
Deep into March,
Following echoes among clouds.
Eyes from under driftwood search
Past midnight
And grapple dawn with
Snapping claws.
Words paint a beautiful picture here. You see with the eyes of the true poet. I love the image of the gulls haunted by their own cries. Pure enchantment, elysabeth. Warmest regards, Sandra
I like this a lot Elysabeth. You've brought the shoreline to aggressive, nail bitingly precarious life. Gulls hunting 'their own cries' is something I well understand, recognise. Strongly and persuasively descriptive. xx jim
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 8:37:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
You offer the reader such a rich bed of unusual images from which to create their own seashore picture. This is a stunning poem and demands several reads. love, Allie xxxx