My poem today was written for a prompt of mine that will be showcased at the lovely poetry community dVerse Poets tomorrow (for which I am honored to be a part of!).
My prompt challenges fellow poets to write a folk poem.
Coincidentally, the prompt over at the official NaPoWriMo sort of fell right into my theme, as it challenged us to write about home. Or, rather, what home sounds like. And while I didn't use any old sayings or really any native language in my poem, I felt that it kept to theme quite nicely, even if altered a bit.
Here is the result of my folk poem about the beautiful Kentucky hills that birthed me. My homage:
The Hills Are My Home
Where I used to live
you could see nothing but
green hills and aqua streams.
Weather-shagged fingers of
Willow Oak and Yellow Wood
spreading bark-clad palms across
a late evening sky turned crimson.
A sailors sky, pink delight
where the moon dared dip
between the clouds, like
a pale-crater cyclops, to watch
night birds and weary cardinals
weave their tired talons homeward.
I felt a kind of loneliness
that employed pen,
heat-thick and thought-spent
between the fading timbers of
a mid-summer surrender.
It was spirit-light and thin-winged,
the muse of my mother hills
that dropped her crumbs into
the stoop-stair where I sat and,
hungrily, I dined at the
fresh air of her dinner table.