The ibis

This poem is written to illustrate what I spoke of in the last post about using mindfulness to write poetry. I was walking towards the entrance of the library and saw this little white bird.

Stately soft toes, long and thin,
Passing into greenest grass
At the still garden by the gurgling stream
And into moist black soil.
The Ibis digs in dirt
With curved beak
While the angelic hosts play
Lyres sounding like Paganini.
The peace of the spring day
Near the coast where the breeze
Smells like pineapples so fresh,
Fresh.
The thunder starts,
The turbine engines sound
Zoom, zoom,
Boom, boom,
Missiles into houses becoming
Fire splintering wood.
Away the Ibis flies.

Helen Lemus © 2022

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