Poem After Poem
  • Poetry by Cheyenne
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  • Poetry by Cheyenne
  • Who Writes This Stuff?
  • Say Hello!
  • Support Poetry!
  • What Else I Do
  • Creation Cabal

Poetry By Cheyenne

A different poem every day for... however long I can keep it up!
I'll be pulling poems from my old notebooks, with revisions of course, along with new ones as I write them.

“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”
― E.L. Doctorow

Spying at the Lake

12/6/2017

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I wish that I could simply sit here and watch the birds,
their gleaming white bodies soaring through the air,
or gliding across crystalline lakes,
finally, touching down lightly on the cool emerald grass,
where I sit watching.

A trio of them slide onto the watery surface,
with the soft sound of a whispered sigh,
but are chased away honking,
by the cream colored prow of a small vessel,
sending ripples of fragments up ahead,
until its glassy surface is completely shattered.

Now the birds stand on the opposite bank, craning their necks and screaming their battle cries at the intruder,
never taking their eyes off of him,
until he leaves their territory,
and then they erupt with victorious cheers,
until their general's orders quiets them down again,
and they turn their attention back to the other abnormal sight.
The creature on the lakeside, grasping a stick leaking blue liquid,
who can't seem to take its eyes off of them.

Soon though, the anomaly leaves their minds,
as their main nemesis,
with his infernal barking,
lunges at the metal prison gate them separates them.
Again, and again,
he tries to break through,
but he only succeeds in bringing out the mocking laughs and taunts of his white-uniformed rivals,
and he eventually retreats once more, deeper into his cell.

One of the soldiers dares to test the cold shattered water for swimming,
but flings himself out as quickly as he went in,
shrieking and shaking the droplets from his plumage all the way.

They now have posted sentries 'round me,
with their long thin necks pointing their small, shifting eyes towards me.
Maybe I should leave,
before they realize I am stealing their military stratagems...
and recording every step and honk they make.
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    Cheyenne Bramwell

    I love to write, and poetry is one of my favorite ways to figure out what my brain is doing.

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