Poetry(Not Really) Thursday - 07/29/2010

I do have several poems in the works, but nothing that I would deem finished.  Instead I have something I wrote in a stream of conscience moment while sitting under a humid, moonlit sky.  Whether you like the following or not, blame or credit the owl.  With his low questioning, he set my mind racing and my fingers whirring over the keyboard of my iPhone.  Unfortunately, I don't have a picture that fits this blog, so my best tiger butterfly to date will have to do.

Night Time Hunt
I look out in the night sky. The warm syrupy air oozing. An owl questions, "Who? Who? Who?", in the distance. My reply is silence and he inquisites once again. I look to the cloud enshrined moon. The stars, pinpricks left from a sloppy tailor who wove the bluish canvas overhead. Against the silhouetted trees my size in the picture is apparent. Even the owl seems larger and the mouse more important. If not for my ability to process the undertakings, I would be completely insignificant in the scene.

My humanity lost in the darkness and the symphony of so many crickets. I am transported back to a place that is both unfamiliar and yet inviting. I smell the grass, the air. I hear the flap of the owls wings. I envy his view, while trapped on the ground, reaching for the heavens. I long to run barefoot in the moonlight. To feel the mosquitoes feeding on my sweat as I challenge the air and fall the deer who is nibbling on the grass. A piece of me remembers somewhere through time, the rush of a nighttime hunt.

An itch on my cheek, I slap myself back to reality and the realization that the romance is gone. The spirit of man has been all but homogenized. Tomorrow I will work by the daylight and the closest I will come to the hunt is picking out some steaks at the supermarket. My ape brain can't help but wonder, have we really come that far?