Mouse The Chime Clock
(i)
A hollow of night
engulfs me.
And flips me
onto a desert island,
no flower, no bird.
From a seafoam hedge,
I grow to my edge,
a bumble bee cloud
on a pier.
As night blows out
into a storm
of stars and singing
zephyr playing
a piano
through tree leaves,
I swing few tools
without teeth,
as I've been
drowning
in splashes of moon
and cream
pools of light
all early dawn,
as I woke up
to plough
ridges on the round
daisy and cream
sailing ball
and mulch
its silver feathers
and rays for a poem.
(ii)
I could grab
a poem's tail,
but not
its cloud-covered head,
as the shadowy
animal
tossed a hoe
and rake at me
to break down
moon's earth
into the soft gravel
and thick clay
that grows
rainbow wings
to craft
and carve out
a rainbow rose
sprouting with
albatross wings
cruising with me
to the river
of a flowing poem.
(iii)
By the river's
moss and emerald
banks of grass
and flowering trees,
I crashed
into the deep snore
and rumble
of sleep
that swallowed me
into a world
with no ears.
Until a mouse
in the living room,
crept up
my thighs,
as the clock chimed
to flash a mirror
sculpting out
the head
of the mouse
that breathed out
my poem
on a melting
moon, a cream
stone O grindstone,
you grind
and sift
feathers
on my quill's nib
into this poem.
zephyr playing a piano through tree leaves, I swing few tools without teeth, as I've been drowning in splashes of moon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well done for capturing and creating all these poetic imagery from around you, short lines with deep meaning, that is what the professional poets do all the time, thanks for sharing and it deserves 10++